


Let's Play

by risotto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chatting & Messaging, Gaming, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Minor Hunk/Lance (Voltron), Online Dating, Online Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Skype
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Voltron: Legendary Defender</i>, is the action-RPG reboot of an 80s classic with graphics and gameplay more befitting the 2010s. It’s the latest sensation, popular among the retro gaming crowd and Millenials alike. And, like with most trends, Keith’s late to the party. Sort of.</p><p>(Alternate summary: Keith meets Shiro and the others online and they play video games like the dorks they are. Also, Keith develops a crush.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cheeseballs

It starts with the release of the latest DLC pack for  _Voltron: Legendary Defender_ , the action-RPG reboot of an 80s classic with graphics and gameplay more befitting the 2010s. It’s the latest sensation, popular among the retro gaming crowd and Millenials alike. And, like most trends, Keith’s late to the party. Sort of.

He had the beta and played it offline to the point of obsession but regrettably had to sell his console to buy textbooks before the release. But now, thanks to an inheritance and his new job, he was able to replace everything and get back into the swing of things.

This, of course, means having to start over from scratch four months after everyone else. It’d be no big deal if the game wasn’t so unapologetically geared towards online play. To get a team of six online at the same time to maximize EXP bonuses and unlock special content is next to impossible.

Keith always did like a challenge, though.

It’s a boring Friday evening when Keith’s on hour two of his search for a team on the QUIZNAK! Forums. All attempts have resulted in varying degrees of failure; at this rate, he'll have to head to Reddit or, worse, GameFAQs. 

He just wants to play. Is that too much to ask for? 

Apparently, it is. According to the forum mods, Keith's attitude rubbed some people the wrong way.  _Abrasive and blunt_ , one of them said when he received his second official warning. As if that's his fault.

As great as the game is, the community is notorious for its hostility towards newcomers, players less than level 15, or in Keith’s case, people with fewer than 100 posts and no forum avatar.

He'd have an easier time starting fires in space but Keith’s determined to become part of a team, abrasiveness and bluntness be damned. So, he throws all the caution to the wind, and starts a new forum thread.

 

 **Keith11181985** : Does anyone want to form a team and actually start getting somewhere in this game on Legendary Mode? I’m bored. 

 

He waits on the edge of his seat, until, like a beacon in the night, his forum mailbox lights up. There's a response to his thread.

 

 **shir0** : hi bored. i’m dad :)

 

Well. It beats the standard ‘gtfo n00b’ and the ‘crickets.jpg’ most forum posts tend to get. But not by much. It’s still dismissive and Keith’s annoyed enough as it is. He types out  _No one has time for your stupid Dad jokes. Why don’t you go touch grass or go back to your mom’s basem_

...before he gets another reply notif.  _Six_ of them, in fact.  
  


**PapichuLance_420** : holy shit  
**HUNKAMANIA** : LMAOOOOO omg  
**Pidgeotto** : What a time to be alive.  
**shir0** : sorry OP! sorry! I couldn’t help myself!  
**PapichuLance_420** : dont apologize LMAO he had it comin he had it comin  
**RoyalMouse** : He only had himself to blaaaaame ♫ ♪

 

Whatever. Keith won’t give them the satisfaction of a response. He sucks his teeth, deciding he’d rather take his chances elsewhere.

That’s right around the time he gets yet another notif. This one for a private message.

 

> **From** : shir0  
>  **Subject** : sorry  
>  **Message** : hey sorry about that. I saw the door open for a joke and couldn’t help it. I hope I didn’t embarrass you or anything. It wasn’t my intention. The others and I were actually looking for a 6th member for our brand new Legendary Mode group when we stumbled across your thread. We’d appreciate it if you could join. If you want to give it a go, let me know. If not, we understand. Once again, sorry.  
>  – S

 

An apology is the last thing Keith ever expected from the QUIZNAK! Forums, home of the infamous GET REKT and circlejerk sub-forums. He’s so taken aback, he almost forgets that it’s common courtesy to respond to these sorts of things.

 

> **From** : Keith11181985  
>  **Subject** : RE: sorry  
>  **Message** : Let’s play now.
> 
>  

A reply comes a few moments later.

 

> **From** : shir0  
>  **Subject** : RE: Re: sorry  
>  **Message** : Great!! You’re a lifesaver! I’ll go tell the others! My Skype is shirogane and so is my gamertag. Just add me and I’ll invite you into our chat so we can get started.

 

And that’s how it really starts.

 

 

\- -

 

 

Why the game doesn’t have a chat feature of its own, he’ll never know.

Although he loathes the idea of online chatting of any form, Keith knows it’s a necessary evil. In a game likeVoltron, communication is what can make or break a team. It sucks but Keith’s willing to put his own issues aside to see this one through. So, he creates a Skype account within minutes and signs on.  
  


_User0091084 has entered the chat._  
**Lance** : WTF is that a spam bot???  
**User0091084** : ?  
**Lance** : OMG its self aware  
**Pidge** : It’s like Skynet!  
**HUNK** : dun dun dunDUN DUN DUNNNNN  
**Lance** : LMAO HUNK is that supposed to be the theme??? XD  
**HUNK** : WOO WOO WOO YOU KNOW IT  
**User0091084** : I’m not a bot.  
**Lance** : yeah right I bet thats what the t1000 said to john connors foster parents

Who’s John Connor? And what’s a t1000? This Lance person is confusing and grating. Mostly grating.

 **Shiro** : You can change your display name in your profile settings if you want. We’re using our character names to make it easier.

Keith blinks. What's wrong with his display name? Oh well. Some questions are perhaps better left unasked.

 **Keith** : When are we going to play?  
**Lance** : congrats man, your somehow even more robotic now  
**Keith** : Don’t you mean you’re*?  
**Lance** : JFC  
**Shiro** : Easy easy. Welcome to the group, Keith. We were trying to get voice chat to work but that's a bust. Now we’re just waiting on Allura to set things up and then we’ll start.  
**Allura** : Actually, it’s ready! I’m sending out the invitations right now!

Keith’s on the console Home screen when he gets the pop-up message inviting him to the game. He accepts the invite and after the game loads, he’s in the set-up menu with the others.

Skype buzzes with activity. Looking between the television and computer screen is going to take some getting used to. 

 **Allura** : I already picked Altean since I’m the host. *^_-* Pick your Paladin roles, everyone!  
**HUNK** : DIBS ON TANK  
**Pidge** : I got Inventor! 8)

There’s only one role Keith wants and it's right beneath a blue orb labeled ‘Ranger’. Someone beats him to it.

 **Lance** : YOINK  
**Keith** : Hey!  
**Lance** : oh sry man did you want that one???  
**Keith** : Obviously.  
**Lance** : well as my blue man sonic says TOO SLOW

Lance’s dick move leaves Keith with only Fighter and Leader as options. Keith had experience with the former in the beta. The offline bonuses for it are the worst out of any role; nothing more than cheap Musou ripoffs.

Not to say that Leader is that much better. The Leader—or The Head, as it’s commonly known—has the slowest level-ups, ‘okay’ offline stuff, expensive equipment, and limited role-exclusive missions. Keith’s not ready for that level of play yet.

 **Shiro** : Come on, you guys. We can’t fall apart before our first mission. Keith, if you want, you can be Fighter. I’ll be the Head.

Keith isn’t completely satisfied—he wanted Ranger, dammit—but knows he’ll just have to suck it up and make due as a Fighter, so he accepts.

 **Keith** : Fine. Someone needs to back you up. Might as well be me.

Besides, Shiro seems like a better Leader anyway.

  
  


\--

  
  


The first level in Voltron: Legendary Defender is not a true level in the traditional sense. It’s more of a tutorial that allows players the chance to adjust to the game. It’s challenging and full of dialogue box hints.

And it can’t be skipped.

It’s universally hated within the Voltron community. Keith remembers there being an online petition to release a patch that would get rid of it altogether. He also remembers wanting to sign it, even knowing it won’t do anything.

 **Shiro** : At the end of this mission is a Boss and we’re going to be graded on how well we do as a team. If the grade is too low, then we'll have to start all over until we can pass and become true Paladins. You guys ready?

What a cheeseball, Keith thinks. The chat is blank for a moment, and then—

 **Lance** : born ready  
**HUNK** : YAH  
**Pidge** : /nods  
**Allura** : *^_^*b

Oh god. They’re  _all_ cheeseballs.

 **Shiro** : What about you, Keith?

Keith sighs.

 **Keith** : Yeah.

 **Shiro** : Good. Now let’s go!

  
  


\- -

  
  


This team is awful.

Okay, no. That’s too harsh, even by Keith’s standards.

But between Lance's EXP hogging, Hunk’s keysmashing and tendency to float on the sidelines instead of the front like a decent Tank, and Pidge’s habit of drifting from the main group—to find hidden treasure, or whatever—it’s a miracle they’ve even managed to make it to the Boss, let alone beat it  _and_ get a passing grade.

They make it through the dungeon by the skin of their teeth, with the Ranger pulling a special attack out of nowhere and scoring the kill—and the major EXP bonus—on the Boss. A feat that Lance will no doubt bring up at every possible moment.

 **Allura** : Well done everyone! We made it!! \\*^_^*/  
**HUNK** : asjknfjn thought I was gonna pass out  
**Pidge** : They weren’t kidding on Legendary Mode being Nintendo Hard.  
**Lance** : yah yah dont all thank me at once

  
Jerk, Keith thinks. Without thinking, he types.  
  


**Keith** : Don’t pat yourself on the back. You were the first one to get their Bayard and you wasted it before we even got to the boss!  
**Lance** : oh like your one to talk Leeroy Jenkins!! we had to use like half our potions on you cuz u kept rushin to kill every damn thing!!!

Who in the world is Leeroy Jenkins?

 **Keith** : It’s YOU’RE*  
**Lance** : w/e with YOUR stuck on level 2 ass  
**Shiro** : Guys come on. We finished the first stage in Legendary Mode. Most Level 1’s can’t even finish it on Hard. That means we ALL did great.  
**Pidge** :  _You_ were great, you mean.

Great is an understatement, in Keith’s opinion. Black Paladins are the Akira Yuki of Voltron: designed for advanced players and, if they’re even halfway decent, a treat to watch in action. Keith’s seen good ones on Youtube gameplay videos from Japan—Shiro blows them all out of the water.

He needs this guy on his team.

 **Shiro** : Thnx. But really, we’re all good!  
**Lance** : yah even hunk who’s probably AAK now  
**HUNK** : asdjnfkl nO I’m NOT  
**Pidge** : Not that I blame him if he was. It’s stupid o’clock here. 8/  
**Shiro** : Then should we call it a night?

Keith wrinkles his nose.

 **Keith** : It’s only midnight here...  
**Shiro** : Oh? Same here! West Coast represent!!

  
Oh. They’re in the same timezone. For some reason, Keith’s a little proud about that.  
  


**Lance** : I s2g if you say WEST SIIIIIIDE.............  
**Shiro** : I won’t. I promise.  
**Lance** : good.  
**HUNK** : UUHHHhh as much fun as another East Coast vs West Coast war sounds I gotta hit the hay  
**Allura** : Oh, you’re EST too?  
**Lance** : yep me and Hunk are on the BEST coast  
**Allura** : As am I!! For a few more months anyway. *^_^*  
**Pidge** : Central here. And I have to get up early for a Saturday class! >8/  
**Lance** : /violin  
**Pidge** : 8P  
**Allura** : Alright then. If it’s okay with everyone, perhaps we can do this again tonight? How does 8PM EST sound?

5:00 pm PST. Keith should be finished with his errands by then. It’d also give him—them—plenty of time to farm for EXP and money. In just a few levels, the Paladins will have their Lions and the shops will start selling better equipment. That’s when the game  _really_  picks up.

He can’t wait.

With the unanimous decision made, the East Coasters and Pidge log off, one by one, until it’s just Keith and Shiro alone in the chat.

It’s quiet and awkward and Keith’s not sure what he should say, if anything at all. He’s about to ramble off something about the latest game news until the chat scrolls with a new message.

 **Shiro** : BTW you did great! Those chain combos you did were awesome. I take it you’ve played before?

It’s obvious he has but even Keith can recognize small talk when he sees it. Sometimes.

 **Keith** : Yeah. But not on Legendary Mode. I can tell you did, though.  
**Shiro** : Played a lot offline, lol

Keith can’t imagine subjecting himself to that kind of torture.

 **Keith** : Looks like it paid off. You saved our hides.  
**Shiro** : Nowhere near as much as Allura did. I guess you can say her support was the backbone of the whole operation.

Ugh. Keith saw what he did there—he just wishes he hadn’t.

 **Keith** : Ha. Ha.  
**Shiro** : Ouch! Tough crowd.  
**Keith** : Seriously though. I never saw anyone play like that before. And I’ve seen a lot of LPs.

In fact, he wishes he’d recorded it.

 **Shiro** : We’ll get more chances, won’t we?

Keith swallows. Why does he feel weird all of a sudden?

 **Keith** : Yeah. We will.  
**Shiro** : I should get to bed. See you later?

It’s almost one in the morning. Keith has no obligations, thankfully, but he does feel like he should probably should head to bed as well, even if part of him wants to freeze time and just chill like this forever. He can’t remember the last time he had...well,  _fun_  isn’t the appropriate word. Hard to have fun with someone like Lance around, but he did enjoy himself a lot more than he thought he would, so there’s that.

 **Keith** : Yeah. See you at 5.  
**Shiro** : You should head to bed too!

Keith’s mouth quirks.

 **Keith** : Whatever. *Dad*.  
**Shiro** : :) Good night!

When Keith moves to turn off his console, he realizes he left the game paused on the Prologue end screen. All six Paladins stand in the center, broken but not beaten in their cheap starting gear, fists held up in triumph.

_Achievement Unlocked: Team-Building Exercise!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks goes to [attemptsonwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords) and [Ad_Astra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ad_astra) for help with coming up with Keith and Lance's usernames. (Can you spot the Easter Egg?). 
> 
> AO3's text formatting and I don't get along so I left it as standard as possible, even with the chat/forum text. Hopefully, it's not distracting for you ghouls and ghosts =)). Please let me know if it is! I'll try to limit it in future chapters.
> 
> My Tumblr is [here](milkcustard.tumblr.com). Feel free to yell at me there if you do not wish to leave a comment.


	2. Communication

The downside to sleeping early is waking early.

It’s a little after eight in the morning when Keith stirs and untangles himself from his bedsheets, feeling oddly refreshed despite it being the first time he’s ever woken this early on a Saturday since he began living on his own a year ago.

After a short jog, a shower, some breakfast, and a quick stop at the bank, it’s barely 10:00 am when he realizes he’s got nothing to do until he has to take his uncle to an afternoon appointment. With all of this extra free time, gaming seems like the best option, so he turns the console on.

Continuing on through story-mode without the others seems taboo so he just goes for the offline stages. Mowing through hordes of enemies and saving NPCs is monotonous but if it means getting enough strength and weapon attack bonuses to shut Lance up about later, then fine.  

He’s on the fourth play-through of the Village Chief’s Daughter escort mission when he gets a notif pop-up on the corner of his screen.

           _shirogane has signed on_

Keith jumps in his seat. Anxious. He wonders if he should invite Shiro into a game or something but realizes one, it might seem rude when the others aren’t around, and two, he isn’t sure  how to even word himself anyway.

 _Let’s play_ sounds kind of childish and entitled, and he wouldn’t blame anyone if they pictured him as a brat stamping his feet; _what’re you doing_ sounds invasive and kind of creepy.

Then Skype is chiming and Keith jumps again. He forgot the damn thing signed him on automatically.  


**Shiro** : Good morning! Did you sleep well?

  
Like a log.

 **  
** **Keith** : I did OK. You?  
**Shiro:** Not enough. Had to wake up early, do some chores, visit 2 clients for work, and did some laundry. I have to go buy some food…

  
Keith’s not sure how to respond. It sounds like he had a busy morning, but saying that would be stating the obvious. On the other hand, saying nothing might be dismissive.

 **  
Shiro:** I know. Adulting is very thrilling, huh?

  
Keith can’t help the smirk that forms.  
  
**Keith:** I can barely contain my excitement.  
**Shiro:** LOL

  
Finally, someone who can detect and appreciate his sarcasm. It’s to be expected—what with the Dad jokes. Keith wonders if Shiro is really a dad. He hopes not, even though he’s not sure why, exactly.

Not as if it matters. They’re just two people who enjoy playing a game. That’s all. Speaking of which...  
  
**Keith:** You playing Voltron?  
**Shiro:** Yeah. I’m just tweaking my Paladin up for tonight. He looks too generic.

  
That’s a good idea, actually. Keith goes for it too. He regrets it once the customization menu pops up and he suddenly remembers how tedious personalizing the Paladins in Voltron can be, what with all the options and accessories and armor. Maybe if he was a more artistic person, he’d appreciate it more.

Keith rushes through it, makes his Paladin look as much like him as possible for no reason other than he’s lazy and not creative in the least. A standard medium black hairstyle, an agile build, nothing flashy, minimal accessories, a red theme for his armor. Still too many options to go through.

Skype chimes again.

 **  
** **Shiro** : Oh btw! There’s an update patch for the game. It just came out today. Did you download it?  
**Keith:** I think I did. I didn’t check into it yet. What’s new?  
**Shiro:** The update has voice chat.

  
The water Keith’s sipping nearly goes down the wrong hatch. Eyes stinging, he coughs, and tries to type out some kind of response and fails.

 **  
** **Shiro** : Want to check it out, see if it works?  
**Keith** : The voice chat?  
**Shiro** : Yeah, just for a quick moment.

 _  
I’m not ready for this_ , his mind reacts. His gut, meanwhile, feels like it’s twisting itself in two different directions.

 **  
** **Shiro** : If you don’t want to, it’s okay.  
**Keith** : No big deal. Let me install it.

  
No big deal he says. What does he have to feel anxious for? He works at a store for crying out loud—he talks to people all the time. This shouldn’t be any different.

With that in mind, Keith hunts for his headset, installs the patch and restarts everything.

Shiro’s waiting for him in the Castle of Lions lobby for their team. It’s quiet and for a moment there, Keith thinks the chat isn’t working. Maybe there’s something wrong with his input jacks or the cables themselves. He’s about to call the whole thing off when he hears some white noise and rustling and feedback on the other end.

He pauses, then braves a soft and even, “…hello?”

Some more rustling. And then, finally, a response, calm and unhurried: “Hi. This is Shiro. Can you hear me?”

Oh, he can alright. “Yeah…”

Keith isn’t sure what he expected Shiro to sound like. Not elderly or accented, sure, but now that he’s heard him, he almost wishes that he hadn’t. Almost.

Shiro’s voice is just bit deeper than his own, smoother and comforting, which are words Keith never imagined he’d use to describe another man’s voice but that’s exactly what it is. Comforting.

Hell, he’d listen to him read a telephone directory if he had the chance.

“Good to know. I don’t sound loud or distorted or anything, do I?”

“N-No,” Keith licks his too-dry lips and wonders what the hell is wrong with him. “Not at all.” A pause. “Do I?”

“Nope. You sound great.”

Trying not to dwell too much on _great_ or on how his throat feels thick all of a sudden, Keith nods, then realizes Shiro can’t see him—thankfully—and says, “will we be using this from now on?”

“Yeah, I think so. It seems much easier when we can communicate during the game instead of pausing to type on Skype or whatever.”

“Oh. Yeah.” It makes sense.

“You know,” Shiro’s voice goes even softer—it sounds like he’s right there at Keith’s shoulder, “you don’t have to use the chat if you don’t want to, right?”

Face blushing so hard it might bruise, Keith almost nods again. “I know,” then quickly adds, “I want to.”

And it’s the truth.

“Alright then,” Shiro says, “I’ve got some errands to run and food to buy.”

So does Keith. “Yeah, same here.”

There’s a soft rumble of bass that sounds like a hum from Shiro’s end that makes Keith want to hide behind his hands. “See you later?”

Keith nods and he doesn’t care. He also grins, a little. “See you later.”

 

\--

 

It’s 4:48 pm and Keith’s stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Highway 215. His fault, really, for taking that route on a Friday, the day when all the tourists and partiers are trying to cram their way into the city; the same day his uncle had an appointment ten miles away; the same day that road rage created a four-car pileup and a three mile gridlock on Keith's way home.

If he’s lucky, he can log on five minutes after five and just blame it on a slow watch, though from the looks of things, that’ll require an act of God at this point. It’s 4:50 and traffic’s budged less than an eighth of a mile.

He’s going to miss it and he’s got no way to inform the team. They’ll likely find a replacement Red Paladin—not a better one, he knows—and continue on their merry way through the game, slashing and blasting through minions of the Galra Empire while he sits suffering in his Toyota Corolla.

4:54 pm. Ahead, the Department of Transportation flaggers are trying their best to redirect this shitstorm of a traffic jam by merging two lanes into one.

Keith sighs, sinking in his seat like a defeated man, his forehead slumped against the steering wheel.

 

–

 

The clock on his cable box reads an ominous 5:23 pm when Keith bursts into his bedroom and turns his console on. His mouth’s dry and his heart’s pounding, and he tells himself it’s because he ran into his house at top speed and not out of a fear he may have been abandoned by a bunch of cheeseballs on the internet.

The game loads up and he sees that they’re all in a chat lobby, probably talking to the new guy or something. He slumps in his desk chair, wondering if he should even bother.

 

 _RoyalMouse sent you an invite!_  
_Accept?  
_ _[Yes] [No]_

 

Keith breathes in deep before he selects Yes.

The lobby is already bustling with so much noise and activity. There’s only five other people in it but it sounds like a children’s petting zoo. Instantly, Keith remembers why he despises voice chat.

“Think we should find somebody else? I say we give ‘im five minutes, TOPS—”

“I sent him an invite so it shouldn’t be much longer—”

“Oh, there he is!”

“WELL WELL, LOOK WHO FINALLY DECIDED TO SHOW UP.”

None of the voices sound familiar and while Keith has a good idea of which belongs to who, it’s too chaotic to pinpoint anything.

Except one that comes after a cleared throat, a soft rumble of familiar bass. With just that, it’s quiet in the chat lobby.

“Glad you could make it, Keith.”

“Thanks, Shiro.” It’s the first time Keith’s said his name, he realizes belatedly.

It’s still quiet in the lobby, in that awkward sort of way. Keith feels like he walked into a crowded room and everyone’s staring at him, expectant. In a way, he has. It’s kind of weird—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened to him.

From what Keith can tell, none of them are playing the actual game itself. They’re all just lounging in the chat while their Paladins rest in the Castle of Lions, their idling animations going on loop.

He blinks twice at his screen. “You guys were waiting for me?”

“Oh brother,” someone drones. It’s a masculine voice, nasal, not exactly grating but it definitely sounds like it could get there quick. There’s no doubt who that voice belongs to.

“Now that all of the Paladins are here, maybe we can start?” suggests a feminine voice with a British accent that makes every word uttered seem charged with import and authority. No doubt who that is, either.

“Uh, not to be, like, a buzzkill or anything,” says another male voice in between what Keith can only presume are bites of food, “but technically, we’re not true Paladins yet? I mean, in spirit we are, but, uh, we all gotta get our Bayards, and then do at least two, maybe three, more caves and pray that we don’t die before we can start unlocking our Lions—”

“God, Hunk. _Tranquilo_. I did some farming today and bought some upgrades for my Bayard and armor. I got your back, big guy.”

“Actually,” quips a young voice that sounds straight out of high school, “Hunk, as a tank, has way more HP than all of us and the highest defense stat caps. If anything, he should have all our backs.”

“...thanks for the vote of confidence, Pidge,” Lance mutters.

Keith shares Lance’s sentiment. He’ll never admit that, though. “Whatever,” he grumbles, “can we play now?”

Shiro hums in agreement. “Alright then,” he says, the determination dripping in his voice and making Keith far more aware of his presence than he had any right to, “Avengers Assem--”

“Shiro, NO.”

 

\- -

 

Their second trial as a team is a lot better than their first.

Which, to Keith, is a lot like saying it’s good only because it wasn’t a complete and utter disaster.

Some of their problems from yesterday—Pidge’s “exploring,”, Hunk’s turtling, Lance’s _everything_ —persist, along with a few new ones. Like, how despite the Altean class’s horrible Attack stats, Allura _loves_ to draw aggro from the higher level monsters. This isn’t much of a problem and is actually a bit more of Keith’s personal style, except they’re all very low in level and this is Legendary Mode, which often leaves them scrambling to recover and survive more times than should be necessary.

“It’s for more experience,” she reasons.

Right.

On top of that, there’s the so-called added bonus of hearing each other speak.

Or, in Hunk’s case, crunching potato chips, heavy-breathing, unusually high squeals when enemies got too close for comfort and the occasionally funny bit of commentary.

That’s tolerable when compared to Lance, who had to make sure he was louder than everyone at any given time. More than once, Keith told him to pipe down and each time, Lance countered with something asinine, like how Keith needed to buy some Q-tips because he’s _not loud, thank you very much_ , and Keith would argue back until either Allura or Shiro stepped in and talked them down.

That being said, everyone carried their weight. And, in Shiro’s case, twice as much as everyone else. A true leader, he was the glue that kept them from falling apart. His tone switched effortlessly between calming and supportive to serious and commanding. Even Lance shut up whenever he spoke.

“Pidge, try conserve your MP—we’re gonna need it for the boss fight.”

“Nice one there, guys. Keep it up!”

“Hunk? Think you could maybe shield Lance’s Paladin until Allura can reach him to heal him? You’re the best guy for the job.”

“Keith, I know you wanna go after that Malboro now, but wait until we’re stronger. Remember, patience yields focus.”

Shiro also insisted they all take brief breaks and reminded them to drink water. Pidge joked that he was like their Team Dad and Keith’s brow tipped when Shiro chuckled and insisted he was far too young for that.

Despite the voice-chat chaos and the obstacles expected of teams, they were all able to get their Bayards and clear out with two level ups each, with an extra one for a certain blue-clad Paladin who loved to kite and snipe. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance also unlocked their Lion summons, which were critical in the team’s victory during the Castle Defense Mission. The same mission Keith himself had problems with on Normal mode.

 

_Achievement Unlocked: Go-Lion!_

  


\--

 

Okay, so maybe they aren’t a bad team, after all. They’re worth sticking around, Keith thinks.

They’re still cheeseballs, though.

 

\--

  


It’s late, nearing two in the morning when they finally finish their session. It would have gone on longer but Lance complained of a super-important family function he had to attend right before work; Allura also mentioned having a prior engagement so she, too, was out for the day.

So it was then decided that Sundays are their designated casual days. If any of them happened to be on, they could do some sidequests or farm for items or money, or just shoot the shit in chat—anything except progress further along the game’s story, which was completely forbidden unless all six of them were in agreement.

Fine by Keith.

He doubts he’d ever participate in many things outside of the team play, anyway. He’s a creature of habit and while it’s nice to have a solid gaming routine, it’d also be nice to take a break from the headache of hearing numerous voices yammering at his ears.

So why Keith’s still awake and chugging down his second Vita500 and listening to Hunk try to make him laugh while the two of them rack up some EXP and Achievements, he’ll never know.

Shiro’s also in the chat with them. He and Pidge are doing the first Green Lion sidequest together, known to be one of the hardest, so they’re mostly quiet. Occasionally he’ll offer some input but for the most part, it’s like he’s not even there.

Well, no. He’s _there_ and Keith can hear him. All of him.

“So, as I was saying, Keith,” Hunk says while they’re picking off Galran forces that get too close to the Arusian Village they’re in charge of defending. It’s one of those sidequests that’s easy in theory but if they’re not careful, they can get overwhelmed in seconds. Keith hates it, personally, but Hunk pointed out it’s the only way they can unlock the Ruby Circlet for Allura which will help them unlock the Red Lion later on.

Hunk’s jokes are supposed to take some of the edge off but so far, they haven’t done anything besides make Keith question if he just doesn’t have a sense of humor. “Get to the point, Hunk,” he mutters as his Paladin runs his sword through a dumb Galran goon.

“I am, I am. There’s this married couple and they’re in the hospital, right?”

Keith furrows his brow. “Is that the joke?”

“No, listen,” Hunk mutters, “they’re in the hospital because the wife’s about to give birth. And the doc tells the couple he’s got this new machine that shares the pain between the mother and the father of the child so she wouldn’t have to feel as much.”

Pidge snorts softly into the mic. “I’ve heard this one before.”

“Don’t say anything, Pidge!” Hunk warns. “So anyway, the husband agrees to it, and the wife starts giving birth.”

“I thought you said the wife was already in labor?” Keith asks. “And how can a machine transfer--”

“Oh my god, just listen to the whole joke and then give critique,” Hunk cries.

Keith rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine.”

“So as I was saying, the wife is in LABOR for the FIRST TIME, right? And the doctor sets the machine to fifty-fifty. And the husband’s all, ‘is this all? I don’t feel anything.’”

Maybe the husband has a higher pain tolerance, Keith thinks, just as his Paladin scores a SS-Rank chain combo on a group of scythe-wielding baddies. It’s a pretty slick move. Too bad Shiro couldn’t see it. He doesn’t say anything out of respect for Hunk’s storytelling, though.

Hunk continues, “So the doctor cranks the machine up to sixty-forty, and hubby still doesn’t feel anything. Then seventy-thirty and, still nothing. Eventually, they just give the husband one hundred percent of the labor pains. And the husband’s like, ‘wow, women sure do complain a lot about childbirth, I can’t feel a thing!’ and the wife eventually gives birth...”

Keith opens his mouth but forces himself to snap it shut.

“...and when they get home, the mailman’s dead at their doorstep.”

What a dumbass joke. Keith’s mouth opens again, but before he can even form the words, a snicker cuts through.

Shiro’s snicker.

No, not a snicker. It’s a full-blown laugh, like that stupid joke’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. And with all of the _oh my god_ ’s and groans—as if it’s hurting him to laugh—and an _I can’t even_ for good measure, maybe it is.

Pidge is giggling too, and Hunk’s saying something all self-satisfied but Shiro’s laughter drowns out everything, even the game, until it’s the only thing Keith can hear. Keith’s too stunned to do anything but sit there and listen.

He doesn’t know what Shiro looks like so his imagination fills in the gaps for him: a body doubled over with an arm draped over a stomach, a mouth stretched into a smile, happy-tears gathered in long eyelashes…

Moments later, Keith’s idling Paladin gets mowed down by enemies and he doesn’t even notice.

  


\--

  


Keith tries his best to shrug the laugh off as a one-time distraction and nothing more.

It proves to be impossible about an hour or so later, after Pidge and Hunk log off, leaving Shiro and Keith alone, just like the previous night. It’s more awkward now that Keith can hear everything and everything _he_ does—and says—can be heard in turn.

Awkward silences are hell.

Shiro yawns and it sounds muffled, like it’s behind his hand. “Man, it’s late,” he mutters.

“Mm.”

“Don’t you have work tomorrow? Or, rather, later today?”

“Nah,” Keith says, “the store’s closed on Sundays.”

“Oh? Where do you work?”

Keith pauses. “You want to know where I work?”

Shiro blurts out a brief, nervous-sounding laugh. “I swear I’m not a serial killer.”

Naive as he may be for it, Keith believes him. He’s not in the habit of blindly trusting others, but for some reason he feels like he can trust Shiro.

And in the extreme unlikelihood that he _is_ wrong and Shiro is, in fact, a serial killer or someone looking to start some shit, Keith is a first-degree black belt in Taekwondo. And if that’s not enough, his aunt is _vicious_ with her broom.

“Just a store that my aunt and uncle own,” is all he says.

“That’s good, working with your family like that.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, because it sounds like the appropriate thing to say. Truth be told, working with family is sometimes a drag and comes with its own problems, but he chooses not to bog Shiro down with boring details about the people that raised him.

“Heh. You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Keith blinks. “I only talk when I feel the need to, sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Shiro assures him. “It’s a good trait to have, I think.”

“I guess...” Lance would no doubt disagree, but Keith’s relieved there’s at least one person out there that won’t think of him as some kind of social anomaly for not talking off the cuff all the time.

“So this store you work at,” Shiro ventures, “what does it sell?”

Not sure if Shiro’s just making small talk or he’s genuinely curious about such a boring thing—or doing serial killer research—Keith shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind: “More kimchi than should ever be allowed.”

Shiro laughs again, nowhere near as loud or hard as before, but it’s genuine and Keith’s proud to have been the source of it all the same. “You know, you’re a pretty funny guy.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t recall there ever being a time anyone called him funny. Weird, definitely; interesting, once or twice. Never funny.

Cheeks burning, he glances at his computer monitor, sees it’s on a blank Google search. For a crazy moment there, he thinks about looking up how to keep this conversation going in this direction but decides against it. They’ll probably just tell him to say what’s on his mind, even if what’s on his mind sounds awful.

He wants to tell Shiro more about his aunt and uncle’s modest store; about their rival store a couple of blocks over that just converted into a Boba Tea joint after Keith’s uncle began selling import beauty products and drama DVDs that he’s pretty sure are bootlegs. Or how Keith himself started off as stock boy in high school and moved up to the front register when his aunt got the insane idea that he’d be great for customer service since he’s bilingual. (Although Keith always suspected it was her sneaky way of advertising her nephew for customers with single daughters.)

He wants to tell him how they’ve tripled annual profits after selling K-Pop stuff since the Hallyu Wave hit, and how they’ve hinted at wanting him to take over as owner one day. He wants to tell him everything.

But he doesn’t.

Shiro yawns again, the sound of it cutting through Keith’s uncertainty. There’s some shifting around and Keith can only presume it’s him standing up off his chair or—and Keith shifts a little as his mind wanders—bed. “I definitely need to catch some sleep. See you later?”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, wondering if it’s possible to hear a person’s smile in their voice and if so, if Shiro can hear his. “See you later.”

Shiro’s laugh is the last thing Keith thinks about before his head meets the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up way longer than I had anticipated. I'll try to trim it down in the future. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you and virtual hug goes to everyone that's given Chapter 1 so much unexpected love and wonderful, thoughtful comments. I didn't expect such a lovely reception. <3


	3. You there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's long, at about 5500 words (not a habit of mine, I promise you). Oi. And fair warning: Keith's a brat in it. I mean, he's always a brat, but...
> 
> Also: a million and one hugs and kisses to [Makaria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makaria/pseuds/MTrash), who patiently beta'ed this for me. I couldn't have done this without you. <3

The most unusual thing happens while Keith’s on the verge of dozing off in the middle of his Analytical Physics I lecture.

He wonders how Shiro’s doing and what he’s up to.

Playing with the team becomes a regular thing for Keith now. Summer’s bled into fall, classes have started, and business at his aunt’s store has picked up, requiring more hours. The only consistency Keith has comes from getting together with the team and playing on Fridays and Saturdays and, sometimes, on Sundays.

They’re the second highlight of Keith’s week.

After most dungeon crawls and marathon sessions, and after everyone not on the West Coast logs off, Keith chats with Shiro. Occasionally, Shiro will send him messages through Skype—usually links to high-level gameplay videos and game updates and bug fixes on the QUIZNAK! Forums—but their communication is generally condensed to those post-game talks. Living in the same time zone has its perks, apparently.

Perhaps it’s insecurity or nagging cynicism, but Keith can’t help thinking if Shiro sticks around out of habit or if he’s just being nice. That he might enjoy their conversations as much as Keith does, admittedly, sounds too good to be true so Keith tries not to think about it too much and instead focuses on what he does know.

And what he does know about Shiro isn’t a lot.

He learns that Shiro lives alone with his dog, whom he’s heard coddling and petting a couple of times. Shiro’s been into games for a long time but only recently got into the online side of it.

He knows that Shiro prefers Superman to Batman; that he prefers water to coffee and thinks Red Bull, Rockstar, Monster, and those Five Hour Energy drinks that Keith, Hunk, and Lance chug religiously are byproducts of Hell. But Yakult is okay in his book.

It’s an odd way of looking at it, but he’s Keith’s closest friend. No. Not quite just a friend. Allura and the others, even Lance, are friends. Shiro is something else to him, entirely. Keith doesn’t think about the others throughout the week between their games. He doesn’t check Skype for them; he doesn’t hold his breath when he sees their screen-names under the Online list and wonder, with anticipation, if they’ll see him.

He doesn’t feel his heart skip several beats when he gets messages from them.

Because Keith doesn’t have a stupid crush on any of them. Only on Shiro. And he doesn’t know what to do.

 

\--

 

“Is that really his name?”

“What, Sven?”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters around his spoon, sucking the remnants of Honey Nut Cheerios off of it.

It’s a casual Saturday morning. It just so happens that they’re the only ones around and even though he’s got a long day of errands and a shift at his aunt’s store ahead of him, like hell Keith will miss the chance to chat with Shiro.

“What’s wrong with Sven?”

“It sounds like a name for a Norwegian physicist or something. Not a dog.”

“That’s incredibly specific,” Shiro remarks. “And anyway, Sven is a _perfect_ name. Isn’t it, boy? Yes it is, yes it i~s.”

It’s not crystal clear through the headset’s microphone but the happy panting of a dog in the background and the even happier sounds of his owner petting him are unmistakable, enough to lift a corner of Keith’s mouth.

“Speaking of,” Shiro says, after the happy dog sounds stop, “is _your_ name really Keith?”

To his credit, Keith doesn’t choke on his cereal or otherwise squawk. It’s still a weird question, though. Dropping the spoon into the finished bowl, he sits up straight, curiosity piqued. “Yeah. Why do you ask? Still doing serial killer research?”

“Hah _hah_ ,” Shiro drones, and Keith can’t help but smirk with silent victory on his end. “No. I just...nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“What’s ‘stupid’?”

“Well, you just don’t seem like a Keith to me, that’s all,” Shiro admits, his voice sounding a little coy. Keith’d hone in on that if he hadn’t been taken aback by the whole thing.

He tilts his head, curiously, even if Shiro can’t see it. “What do I seem like to you, then?”

“I don’t know. Akira maybe?”

Keith groans a little. “The name of an anime. Great.”

“Could be worse?” Shiro supplies with a chuckle. “I could have said JoJo.”

Unable to help himself, Keith snickers—he actually snickers—and says, “or Sven.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

They share a small laugh. And after a long, quiet moment of debate, Keith lets his voice go  a little soft. “Is your name really Shirogane?”

“Huh? Oh. It’s my family name.”

“Shiro Shirogane?” Keith almost snickers again. “Were your parents that unkind?”

“No!” This time, Shiro laughs, nearly as hard as he did back when Hunk made him crack up with a dumb joke; back when Keith first realized he was falling hard for him. “Some old friends used to call me that for short and it stuck. My given name is Takashi.”

Takashi Shirogane, eh. Keith wrinkles his nose and mulls the name over, testing it out without any sound on his mouth until Takashi—no, Shiro—snaps him out of it.

“Don’t Google me, okay?”

The tips of Keith’s ears feel like they’re burning and it’s a long while before he grunts something that sounds sort of like an, “okay.”

There’s some rustling on Shiro’s end, and he says, “Gotta go. I’ll see you later?”

“See you later.”

Keith almost tacks on a _Takashi_ there, but he decides against it at the last minute. Here, he’s Shiro.

 

\--

 

That night, Keith makes sure to pick up some Red Bulls and snacks on the way home and signs on extra early for what he hopes is to be their most epic gaming night yet.

Now that they have all lions unlocked and Allura has enough MP and Skill stats and all the necessary accessories, they can summon Voltron, the Legendary Defender. It’s a pain in the ass doing it on offline mode with the AI but Keith has faith this team can pull it off.

Like always, Allura’s the first to pop up online and immediately gets to work with creating the lobby and sending out the invites. Lance and Pidge come by not too long thereafter, with Hunk logging in just a minute shy of the hour. Everyone’s on. Except Shiro.

While it’s not far-fetched that he’d be late to anything, Shiro’s always been punctual and prepared. Fifteen minutes pass, and there’s no sign of him anywhere online.

Something rotten and cold starts to knot up in Keith’s stomach but he ignores it, choosing to volunteer with an, “I’ll send him a message.”

Though he absolutely dreads the outcome, Keith sends a quick message to Shiro’s gamertag inbox anyway.

 

> _You there?_

Just as he suspected, there’s no reply; when he checks the message status from his outbox five minutes later, it’s still marked as unread.

Nearly an hour after their proposed start-time, Shiro hasn’t made himself known.

Hunk says, “I checked his gamertag activity. He hasn’t signed on since this morning. He’s not on Skype, either.”

“Maybe he’s ghosting?” Pidge offers.

Keith doubts it. What reason would Shiro ever have to hide from them and not tell them?

“Can someone ring him up? Does anyone even know his phone number?” Allura asks.

Keith doesn’t. No one does, actually.

“Still no activity on the forums,” Hunk mumbles.

A loud yet familiar clunk of fists hammering down on a desk cuts through their collective silence. “ _Coño!_ ” Lance practically shrieks. “Our leader, our best attacker, the Head is gone! Gone! G-O-N-E! Now what’re we gonna do? Do we just sit and wait?!”

For once, Keith agrees with Lance and his apparent frustration. That must mean things are _dire_.

“Maybe something came up,” Pidge suggests in usual, practical fashion. “It’s not like he would do this on purpose.”

And that’s what worries Keith the most. Flaking out on them isn’t Shiro’s style. Obviously something’s keeping him back and not knowing is going to gnaw away at Keith until his imagination takes over and he’s convinced himself Shiro’s stuck in a bear trap somewhere.

Pulling up a West Coast news site doesn’t help. Wildfires in California; mudslides in Oregon; a string of home invasions in the Seattle area. Shiro can be in any of those locations or some other place altogether. Keith wisely exits out of his browser before he can come up with any theories.

“So now what?” he snaps.

Allura sighs out. “I don’t think it’ll be wise to progress further without him…”

“Screw this, I’m sick of waiting,” Lance huffs, exasperated. “Hunk, you wanna play some Overwatch?”

“Uh. Sure but, um, what about Shiro?”

“No big. If he comes back, we’ll come back.”

Watching the Yellow and Blue Paladins disappear from their game, Keith folds his arms. Figures.

Pidge’s voice picks up not too long after that. “I’m just...gonna do some offlining.”

“Keith?” Allura tests once Pidge drops from the chat, her voice careful and calm. “Are you—?”

“I’ll wait here,” Keith says without preamble.

“...all right. Do let me know if he returns.”

 

\--

 

Aside from a slight crick in Keith’s neck—courtesy of sitting in the same position at his desk for too long—there’s nothing new to report when Pidge returns two hours later. Maybe it’s just a courtesy or a subtle, roundabout way of checking up on Keith and letting him know his efforts are in vain. Whatever it is, the end-result is the same. Shiro hasn’t signed on.

“I don’t think he’s gonna come on tonight, Keith.”

Keith pretends to not hear Pidge. He just keeps waiting.

 

\--

 

Keith’s doubled over his desk, drool half-dried on the corner of his mouth, when he wakes up to his phone’s alarm reminding him that he has to work today. It’s morning and the first thing Keith sees on his dimmed television screen is his message to Shiro.

  

> _You there?_

Still unanswered.

 

\--

 

By Sunday night, there’s no sign of activity on Shiro’s gamertag, his Skype, or his forum handle.

“Oh, this is just perfect,” Lance complains. “Now we’re never gonna get anywhere!”

“Why don’t we just—?”

“No, Hunk,” Keith blurts. Frankly, he’s not sure what Hunk was going to suggest. He just knows none of it will sound too good.

It goes quiet in the chat, until Allura proposes they try the latest downloadable content, just to keep themselves busy and their minds off their missing partner.

A noble suggestion, and they all agree to it, even Keith.

The Ifrit DLC is a limited-edition sidequest and a throwback to _Final Fantasy VIII_ , thanks to one of the _Voltron’s_ designers being a longtime fan of the series. Just like in the original game, the Fire Cavern Map that’s included is timed.

And Keith _hates_ timed missions.

At first, the team’s effort is shaky, at best. Without Shiro’s Paladin around, their group dynamic shifts. Keith’s now the primary attacker, and at the front of the group which isn’t an ideal spot for him and his meager defense. Even with Lance providing twice as much back-up as usual his Paladin takes quite a beating, requiring Allura to spam him with healing spells while making sure Pidge’s Paladin is safe enough to keep unlocking doors and chests.

The timer’s at less than half when they finally adjust to the cavern’s difficulty, and from the looks of it, they’re midway through the map. If they keep this up, they might actually make it.

Still, Keith doesn’t like cutting it too close, especially after having scored so many EXP bonuses and loot, and he thinks maybe they ought to start over. Just as he opens his mouth, his eyes catch some sudden movement: bright red, bolder than the magma drifting through the cave itself.

“Guys,” Hunk announces as he stops. “You seein’ what I’m seein’?”

There, barely visible on the corner of the screen, is a coveted and elusive Little Red Mouse. Notoriously difficult to catch— even harder than the Umbran Crows from _Bayonetta_ —and one of rarest finds in the game. And with good reason: a successful capture rewards players with a LOT of EXP, an Achievement worthy of bragging rights, and most importantly, the Blazing Sword, the ultimate weapon for the Fighter class and Voltron itself.

Keith sits up ramrod straight in his chair, leaning forward with newfound determination. “Let’s get it.”

“Weren’t you the one complaining about us not having any time for sidetracking?” Lance counters.

“That was before the chance to get an ultimate weapon popped up,” Keith says without skipping a beat as he leads his Paladin in the direction of the elusive rodent. “Come on, before it gets away.”

“Oh, our first Mouse,” Allura practically squeals into her headset, “this is so exciting!”

Exciting isn’t how Keith would describe it. The little sucker’s fast and almost impossible for even the Green and Blue Paladins to keep up with on their own. To add insult to injury, the developers felt it necessary to make it a group effort and made the capture radius _tiny_.

Just in case the dwindling timer on the corner of the screen and confusing map layout didn’t cause enough issues on their own.

Even so, with Keith leading the way, the team manages to keep a good tail on the skittery Mouse. That is, until Pidge strays from the group to go for a treasure chest.

“Pidge,” Keith starts, “save the treasure for later, we almost got it.”

“I know, sorry. But that chest has a fifty percent Moon Dew rate, and it’s rare—”

Keith sucks his teeth, struggles to keep the Mouse within his distance. “We don’t have time for that. C’mon.”

Pidge’s Paladin falls back in line but by then, it’s far too little, too late. The capture circle breaks for the last time and the frightened Mouse scurries away and takes with it their chance for a Blazing Sword and RPG glory.

Pidge squeaks out a tiny, “I’m sorry,” but it’s lost in a chorus of groans.

And Keith’s ire.

“Pidge, for once, would it have killed you to just stay on track? We lost it forever, thanks to you!”

“Hey,” Lance warns, his voice unusually low, “lay off, man. She said she was sorry.”

“Whatever. Thanks for nothing.”

Ragequitting is not Keith’s style but before he can care about ruining all the hard work they put in on the map, he turns everything off and throws himself face-down onto his bed, a silent wail aching in the back of his throat.

It’s dark in the room except for the glow of his computer monitor’s _Galaxy Express 999_ desktop wallpaper. A replacement for the retro _Voltron_ one he’d had before it—one that depicted all of the Lions side by side ready to defend the universe. He changed it earlier that day when he realized he couldn’t bear to look at it.

He should hate Shiro. He really should. Prior to all of this, Keith had no qualms with enjoying a video game for what it was: _just_ a game that he could play on weekends when his mind wasn’t being torn between an uninspiring job and classes for an undeclared major. Now, he can’t even think of the name Voltron without thinking of a guy who can comfort him with nothing but his voice.

Keith pulls the blanket over him, curling inward on himself. _No_ , his mind argues. Shiro’s a good leader and reliable; he keeps their team together and brings out the best in all of them and Keith doesn’t hate him.

He misses him.

 

\--

 

Pidge doesn’t contact him after that. Not that Keith can blame her—he’d avoid himself too, if he could.

He knows he ought to at least apologize though he’s not sure how to word himself. An, “I’m sorry for being a bratty asshole,” just doesn’t seem adequate. But rather than give it the ol’ freshman try as Hunk would say, he avoids Pidge and the others for the week. He tells himself that it’s easier that way.

Allura and Hunk try and reach out to him. They message him in-game and through Skype. He ignores them all.

By Friday, a slight film of dust has gathered on Keith’s console. It’s not until Lance, of all people, challenges him to several rounds of _Tekken Tag Tournament 2_ that Keith even powers the damn thing back on. Part of him wants to believe it’s just to shut Lance up and to let off some steam.

Lance mains Miguel and to Keith’s surprise, is very good with him—good enough to provide Keith’s Hwoarang and Baek team an actual challenge beyond just mashing the attack buttons over and over between the occasional grab. Good, because Keith hates scrubby gameplay like that. And he’s got a lot of steam to let off.

They’re three to three when Lance switches the topic of conversation from casual trashtalk to something a little more serious. “So, you know, I was talking to Pidge…”

Keith sighs. He should have expected it, really. “I know,” he mumbles, and makes an annoyed sound when his fighter is blown back by yet another one of Miguel’s counter-hits. “I’ll apologize to her.”

“Good,” Lance says, and then, “Everything okay?”

Ignoring the hint of concern in Lance’s voice there, Keith tags out Baek for Hwoarang and immediately goes for a Hunting Hawk which, as he predicted, Lance fails to block. _Hah_. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“You sure? ‘Cause ever since last Friday, you’ve been acting like a _pendejo_.”

Keith’s brow quirks. “A what?”

“It means bad person,” Lance says very quickly, and Keith’s not sure he believes him. “Anyway, are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

And the conversation dies there, or seems to, just as Lance manages to squeeze a narrow victory with about five percent of life remaining.

As they pick their next team—Keith sticking with Baek/Hwoarang while Lance goes for Miguel/Marduk—Lance says, “It’s not about Shiro, is it?”

Keith freezes, and the game stops on his end, allowing Lance the opportunity to nab an easy first-round Perfect. Paranoia floods through him and for a moment there, Keith wonders if Lance figured out something that he shouldn’t have. Maybe that was why he invited Keith to this game all along: to let Keith in on the fact that he knows about the massive torch Keith holds for their team’s Black Paladin.

Forcing himself to breathe in a little deeper, Keith responds with a flippant, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—you’re crazy.”

“Sure you don’t,” Lance snorts, “but whatever. You keep telling yourself that. Not as if that level of denial’ll get you anything.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is, _Keith_ ,” and Lance’s obnoxiousness sounds like it’s cranked up to eleven now, but for the first time, it sounds well-deserved, “you’re in, like, uber-denial. You’re not fine no matter how much you keep saying you are and it’s so obvious. And not to mention pointless.”

The “obvious” thing _might_ hold up in court, but—“Pointless?”

“Yeah, pointless! Point-less! Like, c’mon now. We _all_ miss him, and we need him around and there’s nothing wrong with admitting that. I mean, you saw how awful that Ifrit Cave run was—that wouldn’t have happened if Shiro was around.”

As much as Keith loathes to admit, Lance is right. Shiro would have handled that situation a lot better than Keith did. He wouldn’t have lashed out or flounced like a brat, either. Still, it’s a slight comfort knowing he isn’t the only one suffering from Shiro’s absence, even if he’s certain it’s for a completely different reason.

“‘Sides, there’s nothing we can do now except wait for him to come back,” Lance says. “And  he’ll be back before you know it.”

Keith doesn’t say anything—he just hopes Lance is right.

“Trust me on this,” Lance adds, “I know a thing or two about—OH C’MON, I WAS BLOCKING THAT SHIT!”

 

\--

 

While Keith’s mood doesn’t do a 180, he feels well enough to apologize to Pidge the following evening. He owes her that much.

Pidge insists everything’s fine and all is forgiven after Keith awkwardly mumbles his apology to her in chat; Keith, in turn, insists on showering her Paladin with gifts, just to make sure she knows he meant it.

He’s in the process of buying a bunch of extra outfits and weapons from the online store when he spots a notif on the corner of his screen. His first instinct is to dismiss it as an invite from Lance looking to get his ass kicked in Tekken again.

Only, it’s not.

     _shirogane has signed on._

 

\--

 

There’s no celebratory fanfare for Shiro’s return that night. Just a group chat in the Castle of Lions.

Keith’s the last to join the lobby and it’s strangely quiet when he enters; it’s obvious his presence shifted the atmosphere within but he doesn’t say anything, just does the online equivalent of quietly going to the back of the classroom to sulk.

It’s too late to do any gaming, so they just chatter amongst themselves at first, mostly about what sorts of in-game shenanigans they’ve all been up to in Shiro’s absence. They neglect to mention anything about Keith’s blow-up on Pidge and Keith can’t decide if it was a conscious decision on their part or not.

“First, let me say that I’m sorry I’ve been scarce lately,” Shiro begins when it gets quiet enough, and the apologetic tone of his voice makes something in Keith’s chest plunge with guilt. “I ran into some trouble and I couldn’t access my games or the net, really.”

Keith frowns. If he had been in trouble, why couldn’t he at least tell them?

“What kinda trouble?” Hunk prods. “You weren’t, like, on the run from the law or Yakuza or anything, were you?”

Allura speaks up: “Hunk, do you honestly believe that a fugitive from the law will return to his home and go online to play games?”

“It was the first idea that popped into my head,” Hunk mumbles.

“I’m not on the run,” Shiro announces when it sounds like Pidge or Lance might offer up their own crazy theories. “I crashed.”

“What?”

Keith’s not sure who even asked that. It feels like the floor’s given out from beneath him. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up.

“It’s not bad,” Shiro insists, “I was on my bike, wiped out on the PCH. Aside from some road rash, a nasty strawberry bruise, and a concussion, I’m okay. My gear saved me.”

The possibility that Shiro’s downplaying everything is the only thing that keeps Keith from losing it completely. There’s just no way a wipeout would put someone out of commission for that long. There’s something else.

Out of respect for the others, Keith doesn’t say anything. Just sits and listens as Allura tells Shiro, in her fondest voice to date, that they’re all glad he’s alright.

“By the way, what’s a P-C-H?” Lance asks.

“Pacific Coast Highway,” Pidge supplies. “Shiro lives on the West Coast, remember?”

“Oh yeaaaah.” Lance hums, like he knows that already, then abruptly— “Wait, you have a motorcycle?! Can we see your bike?! Can we see a picture of your rash and bruise? I bet they’re gnarly.”

“Uh, Lance?” Hunk interjects, “I know this isn’t my injury or crash or even, like, my place to speak for Shiro or anything like that, buuu _uut_ I am going to have to speak for him—and for the rest of us—when I say _no_. Nope, nuh huh. Not happening. No way, no how.”

“Aww, but I wanted to see!”

Hunk huffs. “ _No_. I’m putting my foot down.”

Their antics make Pidge, Allura, and even Shiro dissolve into soft laughter, and just like that, things are back to normal. Or as normal as they’ve been for the past couple of weeks. Keith doesn’t make the effort to say anything, too afraid that he might ruin all of this.

He doesn’t open his mouth until much later, after Allura and the others have gone to bed, and he’s alone in the lobby with Shiro. This is almost like normal for them, too.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Shiro remarks, and he’s got the nerve to sound lighthearted about it.

For some reason, that does it. An unknown anger flares up deep within him and just like he’d done before with Pidge, Keith rounds on him before he can think to regret it. “Why didn’t you say anything? You could have at least...signed on or something. I—we were worried about you!”

It’s a long while before Shiro manages to murmur Keith’s name, like he’s surprised it came to this.

Keith at least has enough pride to not blow up again, and enough sense to calm down before he asks, “What happened?”

“Huh?” There it is again, that soft surprise, mixed in with the rich comfort of Shiro’s voice.

“I don’t know what you look like, but I know what you _sound_ like, Shiro, and whatever you told the others wasn’t the whole story.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the chat save for Shiro’s soft breathing and, eventually, a yielding sigh. “It’s a long story,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have anything better to do,” Keith assures him. It’s true. And even if it wasn’t, he’s waited too long for this.

“I didn’t lie, you know. I just didn’t tell them about my arm,” Shiro says.

“What? Did you break it?”

There’s a rustling sound and Keith assumes it’s Shiro shaking his head. “No. Just aggravated an old injury.”

Keith imagines something sports-related and is a little more than surprised when Shiro tells him, in fact, that it’s from a few years ago, when he was in the Marine Corps. Keith finds himself scooting up in his chair and listening more closely. He’s never met a marine before; he just knows they’re badass by default. It makes sense now that he thinks about it—Shiro’s got that quality about him.

“And before you think it was a war injury or anything, it wasn’t. I wasn’t even stationed in a combat zone.”

Keith didn’t think that, but now that he knows, he’s pretty fucking glad.

There’s a laugh on the tip of Shiro’s tongue when he continues on. “Actually, it’s kind of dumb. I was stationed at Camp Fuji where I dislocated my shoulder during PT. A guy in my unit set it back into place for me and since it seemed to do the trick, I didn’t go to medical. Stupid me, right?”

That’s pretty reckless, Keith thinks. But not stupid.

“It goes fine for a few months. Nothing serious except for a few aches here and there until one day, we’re doing evac training and I’m climbing up and my arm just gives out on me. I go down about four meters and I land on it. _Hard_.”

A pause.

“I really went to medical that time,” he adds, with a self-effacing laugh.

Keith doesn’t laugh with him. He swallows. “So then...what happened?”

“Well, I had surgery and without getting into details, my elbow was pretty much broken. There was no strength left in my arm, and it was my right arm, too. Can’t be much use if my dominant limb is pretty much useless, you know? So, I’m medically discharged. Barely a year in and I’m out.”

Though Shiro sounds like he’s made amends with that chapter in his life, Keith can easily tell he’s disappointed, which makes all of his own angst and whining seem even more childish in comparison. He hangs his head, feeling like the biggest prick in the world.

“My arm got a lot better, though,” Shiro pipes up and Keith’s head pops up so fast, he thinks he may have heard a small crack.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Thanks to physical therapy and me just being stubborn, I was able to finish my degree and get licensed and certified as a trainer, so it’s not a bad ending. I mean, the accident kinda made it hurt like hell but it’s not broken or anything, so…”

Towards the end of all of that, Keith can’t help imagining if Shiro were with him in his room, he would have hugged him. Or at the very least put a firm, consoling hand on his shoulder. For now, all he can do is sit there in silence, nodding as if Shiro can see him.

“So. Yeah. Please don’t tell the others.” There’s a shift in Shiro’s tone and he sounds more like the assuring team leader Keith knows him as. “I don’t want to freak them out or anything.”

It’s strange that Shiro doesn’t want them knowing despite how matter-of-factly he spoke of it, but the last thing Keith wants is to violate the trust Shiro had placed in him so he says, “I won’t.”

And after a pause, he adds, awkwardly, “I’m...glad you told me, Shiro.”

Shiro lets out something that sounds like a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. “Me too. You know, now that I think about it, I...never really told anyone the whole story before.”

“Really?” And Keith hates how his voice cracks there. Like Lance. Ugh.

“I guess you’re just easy to talk to, Keith.”

It’s all Keith can do to not let out any high-pitched noises and not dive beneath his bedsheets in embarrassment.

“Hopefully, we’ll be back to our old selves and do better next time?” Shiro offers.

Keith picks distractedly at a nail. It would be easy to just nod and and head off to bed, but he’s not finished. There’s just one more thing he’s got to get out of the way.

“Just...next time,” he says, “let me know if something happens.”

“Let you know?” Keith swears he can hear Shiro’s face contorting with confusion. “I couldn’t get online--”

“No, I mean,” Keith sighs, though it does little to calm him. “Text me. Let me know. I’ll give you my number.”

It’s the most thoughtless, reckless thing Keith’s ever said to anyone. Yet, he can’t imagine not saying it at all.

“Keith, I—”

“It’s no big deal,” and it sounds more like Keith’s trying to convince himself rather than the other way around. “I don’t use my phone that much anyway. I just have it so my aunt and uncle have a way to get in touch with me if they need to.”

He thinks that by making it seem like more of a practical decision instead of something based solely out of a fear, it will make it easier for them to deal with.

It doesn’t work.

“That’s not safe, Keith,” Shiro chides, “giving your phone number out to strangers on the internet like that.”

“Why?” Keith counters. “Will you hurt me?”

“No. Never.” Shiro sighs, the sound of it long-suffering, deep and low in Keith’s ear. “Didn’t you ever get the Stranger Danger on the Internet Talk from your family?”

“Yeah,” Keith snorts. “And I was told that if anyone tried anything, to kick their ass.”

Shiro _hmms_ but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

“Look, you don’t have to give me your number, Shiro,” Keith adds. “Spoof the number, use someone else’s phone. I don’t care. I just can’t…”

_I can’t take that kind of worry again._

“I— _we_ just gotta know if you’re okay.”

“Alright,” concedes Shiro in a voice so soft, Keith’s not sure he really heard him. “I’ll text you from my work phone. The gym pays for it.”

So the number can’t be traced back to him in any way. That’s fine by Keith. He meant it when he said he didn’t care if it was Shiro’s own number or not—he just wants to avoid the torture of wondering if he’d ever see him online again.

Still, Keith didn’t expect him to cave in so soon. And as he types his phone number into a message for Shiro, he can’t help but smirk with quiet pride.

 

\--

 

Ironically, it’s in the middle of yet another boring Analytical Physics I lecture that Keith gets his first ever text message from Shiro. At first, he doesn’t recognize the 310 area code number but after sneaking a quick glance and seeing `This is Shiro` on his screen, he’s suddenly wide awake and responsive.

` Shiro `  
` Hey just popping in to tell you to check your game inbox when you can! `

Having to wait until the lecture is over while that screen stares right back up at him is pure agony and Keith’s not sure how he manages to make it through to the end of it, let alone after a short ride home.

Just as Shiro promised, there’s something waiting for Keith in his inbox once he turns the game on.

A Blazing Sword.

 

 

> _shirogane_ _  
> _ _Sorry to have made you worry. Try to have a better week & don’t drink so many Red Bulls. See you on Friday. :) _
> 
> _ >> Keith11181985 wrote: _ _  
> _ _ >> You there?_
> 
>  
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated. I'm also available on Tumblr and Twitter (both as _milkcustard_ ). 
> 
> Next chapter: someone finally puts the Skype video chat function to use. Dun dun dun!


	4. Stupid Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not have been possible without two things. First, and foremost, the wonderful [Maka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makaria/pseuds/MTrash). Thank you so much. <3 And a distant second: Crunchyroll added Ronin Warriors to their titles (it'll make sense later) and Netflix is going to add the original Voltron to their lineup soon!

Keith’s not sure when he started looking forward to killing time online with Shiro and the others more than actually finishing the game. It kind of snuck up on him; now, he can't imagine spending his weekends doing anything else.

It’s approaching November when Allura makes the announcement that she’s going back to the UK for school and family. So, in the meantime, game nights are spent farming for EXP and money and getting 100% clearances on old maps since Pidge is such a completionist.

It’s mindless, uneventful fun. Quiet, too, except for the all-too-frequent moments when Lance complains about Keith’s Blazing Sword being a game-breaker—a fact that Keith secretly basks in with petty glee.

Then, in the middle of a defense mission, Hunk lets out a roaring sneeze that startles them all and leaves Keith wondering if he’ll have any hearing left by the end of the year.

“Sorry,” Hunk sniffs, “it got cold here all of a sudden. Virginia wasn’t made for this kinda weather.”

Without thinking, Keith mumbles, “I’ll trade with you. It’s dry and hot as hell here.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s ‘here’?”

Keith shrugs and moves his Paladin in for a kill on a goblin, scoring a nice bonus over Lance in the process—another petty feat that makes him grin. “I live in the desert.”

He’s not sure how it’s possible, but he thinks he can hear Lance sneering through his headset. “In the desert? What’re you, Mad Max?”

“Who’s he? Is he supposed to be famous or something?”

“Oh my god! Oh. My. God. Is this really happening? I can’t even—!”

Between Hunk’s sneezing and snack-crunching and Lance’s emphatic _everything_ , Keith ’s definitely going to go deaf.

“Keith,” Shiro pipes up, his voice a soothing balm over everyone else’s disbelief, “you haven’t heard of the Mad Max movies?”

For some reason, that makes Keith more self-conscious and defensive than anything Lance could ever say. He pouts at nothing in particular while fighting the urge to fold his arms like a petulant child. “I’ve heard of them,” he mutters. “I just haven’t seen them to know anything about them. It’s not like I go to the movies that often or anything.”

Lance snorts. “You know what? I believe you. You really do live in the desert. Far away from civilization.”

“Las Vegas,” Keith corrects him.

“Whatever. Same thing, just with a slot machine.”

“Whatever you say, Florida Man.”

“Hey—!”

“Guys,” Shiro cuts in, “c’mon.”

And just as fast they go up, the hackles go down. Keith’s not above admitting Shiro has that calming effect on him.

It’s a mostly quiet game from that point on, with Keith and Lance making passive-aggressive snipes as Pidge leads them on one monotonous map quest after the other until Shiro excuses himself to take a much-needed break.

Keith uses the break as a chance to fix his Paladin’s appearance. The red was starting to look a little lame. Maybe some black…

“Hey, Flaco,” Hunk says out of the blue during a lull in activity, “did you see that Allura updated her Instagram with her Halloween and Comic Con pics?”

“Yeah, I saw!” Lance sounds giddy. “They’re amazing!”

“I know, right?” Hunk gushes. “There’s a reblog of her Storm costume on Tumblr. It’s, like, close to half a million last I checked.”

His interest piqued, Keith speaks up. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Allura’s a cosplayer. She has an Instagram account with lots of followers,” Pidge informs him.

That doesn’t seem right—almost invasive, in a way. But then, Keith doesn’t have any of his own pics up on the internet, so what can he really say? “Does she know you guys are looking?”

“’Does she knows you guys are looking,’” Lance mocks him in a squeaky  voice that sounds nothing at all like Keith’s. “Of course she does. She gave us the link way back when. Give us some credit here—we’re not creepers.”

“Says the guy who all but proposes to her everytime we play,” Keith mutters.

Hunk and Pidge snicker and Keith can’t help but feel a little surge of pride at that. Too bad Shiro’s gone AFK.

“Figures you’d have something to say,” Lance snaps. “Do you even know what Instagram is?”

“Of course I do.” He’s not that much of a shut-in. Or shut-out.

“Is that right? Do you have one?”

Keith feels his head lowering defensively. “No...”

Hunk and Pidge snicker. The traitors.

“Oh yeah? Huh,” Lance hums. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

In spite of his earlier smugness, Keith snarls. “And just what do you mean by that?”

“Nun. Just sayin’. You’re doin’ the whole world a favor by living out in the desert and not showing your face.”

Keith can't decide if he should feel insulted or confused. “Are you seriously going for a ‘you’re ugly’ rib right now?”

And, of course, Shiro takes that exact moment to return with a simple and maybe too cheerful, “Hey guys, I’m back. What’d I miss?”

Though there’s still some anger stewing within him, Keith backs down, deflates a little. 

“Lance and Keith are having a pissing contest,” Pidge confesses, like the squealing traitor that she is. And to think, Keith was going to go fifty-fifty with her on their loot.

Shiro groans. “Again? What happened?” he asks with a sigh.

When it’s apparent Keith or Lance won’t, Hunk speaks. “Uh, Lance kinda insinuated that—”

“I’m not insinuating anything! I’m saying it right now!”

“—that Keith’s ugly.”

“Oh,” is all Shiro says, and Keith can’t help noticing how disappointed he sounds. “You’ve seen Keith?”

“No,” Lance admits, “but, like, I have a mental image of him. I have one of everyone, actually. Helps fill in the gaps when we’re talkin’ and stuff.”

Weirdo, Keith thinks. Aside from a few moments of wonder during his chats with Shiro, Keith never devised a mental picture of any of them. To him, everyone looks like their Paladin and that’s that.

“Should I be worried?” Shiro asks.

“Nah,” Lance says, “I picture you as Clark Kent, y’know, because of the whole Superman thing.”

“That’s…um, wow. Okay. Thanks. I think.”

“No. Thank  _ you _ .”

Keith rolls his eyes at their exchange—at Lance’s transparent flirting attempts, really—and tries to ignore that his blood feels like it’s boiling beneath the surface of his skin.

“What about me?” Pidge asks. “Who do you picture me as?”

Lance snickers. “You ever see that movie Inside Out?”

“Ugggh. No. Way. Nevermind. I know what you’re going to say,” Pidge mumbles and Keith has to keep himself from saying it’s what she deserves for laughing at him earlier.

Then, Lance continues, “Hunk and Allura, I already know what they look like and they're amazing. And Keith? I bet he looks like Krillin from Dragonball.”

“Hey!” That’s taking it too far. Keith might not know who Mad Max is, but he definitely knows his Dragonball and no disrespect to the strongest human but there’s no way he looks like that bald, noseless shorty. 

“Keith, calm down,” Shiro intervenes. “Lance didn’t mean that.”

“Hah!” Lance cackles and makes no effort to hide it.

“ _Lance_.”

By then, it’s too late. Keith’s already signing onto Skype and rushing through all of the prompts and making sure his webcam’s in good working order. “All right then, asshole,” he challenges, “get on Skype.”

“And why, pray tell, would I do that?” Lance asks in a snooty Mid-Atlantic accent.

“Just do it. Unless you’re afraid to be proven wrong.” Keith smirks after a moment. “Chickenshit.”

That seems to do the trick because in the next instant, Keith can hear the hustle and bustle of movement on Lance’s end before an annoyed and drawn-out, “fiiine.”

“Children,” Shiro sighs, his voice sounding like he knows his words are falling on deaf ears. “You are all actual children.”

Keith calls Lance and in mere moments, the webcam screens load up. It’s only then that he realizes he’s never done anything like this before. If he hadn’t been annoyed with Lance and so prepared to prove some kind of point—one that he’s not even entirely sure of—Keith thinks he probably would have never chosen this guy to be the first person on the internet he’d show his face to.

But there’s no going back. Doing that would only add more fuel to Lance’s fire and that’s the last thing he wants now.

The camera screen comes into focus and at first, Lance is slumped so low in his chair, Keith can’t see him, just part of a surprisingly well-kept room, the top of some Bedazzled blue headphones, and brown cowlicked hair. Then Lance scoots back in his seat and Keith’s finally able to see him.

“Wow.” Lance sits up straight, his face running the gamut of emotions before settling on ‘stunned.’ “You look…”

“Not ugly?” Keith supplies, perhaps sounding a little more snippy than he should. It bothers him that Lance _isn’t_ unattractive. He expected a neckbeard and Dorito dust; not tan skin and expressive, slender features.

“You don’t have a humpback!”

“I’m Keith,” he mutters through gnashed teeth, because  _ of course _ Lance would take this opportunity to say something so juvenile and untrue. “Not Quasimodo.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go looking for asspats.” Lance sneers and folds his arms. “You’re not Krillin, but with that hair, you’re Yamcha now.”

“Yamcha!?” Keith’s not sure if that’s better or worse than being told he looks like Krillin.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Lance sighs, waving his fingers dismissively toward him. “You’re Ryou from Ronin Warriors. Take it or leave it.”

Keith can accept that. Ryou of Wildfire was his favorite from that show and he always did like his hair. “Fine by me.”

“Wait, hang on,” Hunk chimes in, “I wanna see!”

“Oh brother,” Pidge mumbles.

Keith isn’t excited about being gawked at but Hunk’s signed on and added to the chat before he can think to make a break for it.

The instant he’s on, Hunk laughs and seeing him do it is such a treat that Keith finds himself smiling along with him. He’s a lot like what Keith expected based on his voice. Cute and handsome in an approachable way. Beefy, he’d say.

“Yeah, no doubt about it,” Hunk says, grinning. “You’re definitely Ryou.”

Keith grins back. “And you look like Kento.”

“But, y’know,” Hunk cups his chin in thought, “I think you’re more like a hybrid. Ryou of Wildfire meets a K-Pop guy, something like that.”

“...which K-Pop guy?” Shiro asks.

Reality jolts Keith and he quickly moves his mouse, offering a quick, “I’m logging off now,” before he signs off.

Though he can’t help the pang of disappointment that Shiro didn’t offer to join them on Skype.

  
  


\- -

  
  


An attempt to clear out the Nethov Swamp optional dungeon proves successful. Without Allura and her character’s wonderful healing and support, it’s extremely difficult but they more than make up for it with items and Shiro’s guidance. By the end of it, however, none of them, not even Shiro, want to play anymore.

There’s still some time left before their usual shutdown time so Pidge tries setting up a Livestream for them to watch _Mad Max: Fury Road_ , only it’s a bust. They collectively take that failure as a sign to go to bed.

“Think I’m going to turn in too,” Shiro announces after Pidge, Hunk, and Lance have gone offline and left him alone with Keith. 

These one-on-one chats with Shiro are typically Keith’s favorite part of their gaming nights but tonight, he’s not sure if he can handle being Shiro’s only audience. Not after realizing the one thing keeping from them seeing each other is a simple question.

And Keith’s own inability to ask it.

Shiro yawns and Keith thinks it’s the cutest thing, even if he can’t see what it looks like. He wants to see what it looks like. He breathes in a deep, settling breath. “Hey, uh, Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

Keith stares longingly at the Skype icon on his computer’s desktop. He thinks of nudging the mouse closer then his hand freezes, rooted to the spot. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks, and his voice is so soft and tender, Keith thinks he might shatter if he says the wrong thing.

Rather than risk it, Keith shakes his head and says, “Uh, sorry. Have…a good night.”

“O-kay,” Shiro laughs, “are you sure?”

No, he’s not. And that’s the problem.

“Yeah,” Keith lies. “I am. See ya.”

After he logs off, he wants to kick himself.

Stupid Lance.

  
  
  


\- -

  
  
  
  


Because Lance is stupid, for many reasons up to and including because he planted the seed of appearances into his brain, Keith spends the next few days agonizing about that incident on Skype and the missed chance to ask Shiro to sign on.

It’s dumb and he knows it. They’ve been playing and voice chatting for a while now; they’ve even exchanged a few texts here and there, all with no problem. Keith doesn’t know what Shiro looks like and vice versa, and he was comfortable with maintaining that status quo. It didn’t stop him from developing a huge crush on the guy. Shiro could look like a leper and it wouldn’t change a thing.

But now...

Now, Keith finds himself thinking more and more about him. At work, mostly. Once in a while, a customer will approach the counter and as Keith goes through the motions of ringing them up and handing them their bags and receipts, he’ll wonder if Shiro’s ever been among them.

He’ll see people roaming around campus and think, idly, if Shiro looked like any of them. Particularly the ones with attractive features.

It got really bad one night while he watched  _ Hey Ghost, Let’s Fight _ , and his thoughts went from a simple,  _ wow, Taecyeon’s fucking cut _ to a straight-from-left-field,  _ does Shiro have big ears like him too? _

God, he’s so got it so bad.

This crush was easy to deal with when Skype wasn’t thrown into the mix; when that air of internet mystery kept Keith’s thoughts away from his hormones. Before, he was satisfied with only knowing what Shiro sounded like. Now, most of his free time is spent picturing what Shiro looks like so he can daydream about him like some kind of schoolgirl, even if he doesn’t know the first thing about him.

Well, no. That’s not entirely true.

Shiro’s into video games and says he’s too young to be a dad and is more or less able to keep up with Hunk and Lance’s pop culture references in chat, so he’s likely around their age, maybe a little older. He’s also a personal trainer and a former Marine which means there’s a good chance he’s in shape. And if his name is anything to go by, he’s at least part Japanese.

It’s still too vague, though.

It’s Wednesday. Two more days—Keith’s got two more days until game night. Then, he can get his mind off of Shiro’s appearance and finally put these nagging thoughts to rest somehow. 

For now, he’ll have to relax and keep his mind off Shiro.

On TV, there’s an ad for reruns of the Tyler Hoechlin as Clark Kent episodes of  _ Supergirl  _ and Keith’s pretty sure he’s never changed a channel so fast in his life.

Stupid Lance!

  
  
  


\- -

  
  
  


“So, anything new happen while I was gone?”

A cheerful Allura returns that Friday, though still jet-lagged and tired from adjusting to Greenwich Mean Time in the middle of the school season. She insists it’s only a temporary setback and that she’ll be in good working order soon.

However, with exams and the holidays just around the corner for those in the States, they in all likelihood won’t make it far story-wise in the game anyway. So it’s another night of bullshitting and chit-chat instead.

So much for a decent distraction.

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “We learned Lance and Hunk think Keith looks like some guy from Yoroiden Samurai Troopers.”

Lance snorts. “Ronin Warriors, Pidge. Ronin Warriors.”

“I’m a purist. Sue me.”

“Beg pardon?” Allura asks. “What’s this all about?”

“We did a brief Skype video call,” Hunk explains. “Oh, and we tried to watch Fury Road on a livestream but that didn’t work.”

“Oh, Skype! How wonderful! We should try that!”

Keith almost chokes on his Yakult. No, they should not try it. Not like this.

“Sure,” Lance says, “sounds great. I’m bored.”

“I’m in,” says Hunk.

“I’ll give it a go,” Pidge offers.

“Keith?”

Eyeing Shiro’s inactive Paladin on the screen, Keith gnaws anxiously on his bottom lip and croaks out a, “sure.”

“So that just leaves Shiro,” Hunk says. “You joining the call, brudda?”

“I’m…not sure.”

“Oh c’mon!” says Lance in his encouraging tone—the same tone he tends to use in-game when he's trying to rope them into something questionable. “It’s just us! There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, it’s not like you can look any worse than 1985 over there.”

Keith has the sneaking suspicion Lance is talking about him. If his stomach wasn’t tearing itself apart from the inside, he’d retort with something about Lance’s cowlick. But for now, he can only grunt derisively and sweat bullets.

“Lance,” Shiro says in warning but it falls short in a sigh.

“What? I’m just sayin’, you’re among friends and no one’s gonna judge you.”

“Alright.”

With a pleased hum, Allura claps her hands together happily and says, “very well. I’m going to put on some tea then we can get the call started. I’ll give it five minutes.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

This is happening. It’s really happening. In less than five minutes, Keith’s going to see Shiro. For the past week, he’s been fantasizing and agonizing about it. And now that the moment is finally here, all he can do is panic.

He tries to think of an abrupt excuse.  _ My house is on fire. I seem to have caught the Bubonic Plague, gotta go.  The FBI is here to take me back to Area 51... _

But as he sees familiar names pop up one by one on his buddy list, his mouth goes numb and dry.

After spending a good minute and a half combing his fingers through his hair and making sure what can be seen of his room behind him isn’t a complete disaster, Keith rescinds to his fate and reads the message popped up on his screen.

  
**Allura** : Everyone on? I’m going to start the call! *^_^*

  
By Keith’s judgement, the world stops spinning for an eternity before the Skype loading screen splits into six different video-chat squares. In reality, only a few moments ticked by.

“Holy shit.”

Leave it to Lance to summarize it best.

Part of Keith had hoped this reveal would ease any anxieties he developed over the past week.

He’d never met anyone online that he could see himself dating, let alone being attracted to in any way, and convinced himself that if Shiro looked average or even just a little attractive, then everything would be fine. He could then let things remain as they are and trust himself to not do anything reckless enough to endanger the comfortable distance they’ve got going.

But as luck would have it, Shiro, the Black Paladin and the nerd that liked to occasionally quote Superman and Captain America and make dad jokes—the one that Keith holds quite the torch for—is fucking gorgeous.

The quality of Shiro’s cam isn’t the best and the dim lighting isn’t helping but what Keith can see is enough to know that Shiro hits all of his buttons and several he never knew he had till now. Hard.

Shiro is broad and angular. Nearly everything about him is sharp: his jaw, his cheekbones, his eyes. But there’s also a softness around him that Keith can’t explain—he just knows that when Shiro’s confused, his eyes go a little big and round and vulnerable, and that’s precisely the moment when Keith’s heart flutters like mad.

“Huh? What is it, Lance?” Shiro asks. He’s straddling a chair, his arms— _ god _ , his arms—are folded across its backrest. And— _ shit _ , is he wearing a beanie? Who does that?

Lance can only point and gawk at his camera with his mouth hanging open. “Uh. You’re…you’re...”

Hunk swoops in with what might be construed as a rescue. “Uh, what I think Flaco’s trying to say is that you’re, uh, photogenic.”

“Photogenic?” Shiro squints. The fact that it looks like Shiro is wearing eyeliner aside, it's a minor thing Keith would otherwise not notice on anyone other than Shiro.

“Yeah,” Hunk says. “Very photogenic. Like, ridiculously photogenic.”

“Hm.”

“It’s…it’s a good thing!” Hunk gestures widly. “A very good thing. Like, ridiculously good.”

By this point, Lance is still pointing and speaking in tongues, his eyes wide and jaws agape.

“Congrats, Shiro,” Pidge quips, “you managed to do the impossible. You shut Lance up.”

Lance isn't the only one.

Keith doesn’t say anything during all of this. Doesn’t realize he’s practically the living embodiment of the heart-eyes emoji until it occurs to him that he’s openly staring at his monitor and that there are other people in the chat with them. Four others, even.

Lance and Hunk are talking animatedly although Keith can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart. Beneath their chat screens is Pidge’s and—yeah, she looks exactly like her Paladin would in real-life, only her glasses are about two sizes too big for her and there’s a shit-ton of Pokemon stuff in her background.

“Oh, Keith,” Allura says after the chuckles die down.

She looks ethereal, a word he never imagined he’d use to describe anyone that wasn’t an elf from Lord of the Rings, but here he is, thinking just that. _Straight out of Rivendell_ , Lance once said.

He’s getting into the habit of saying what’s on Keith’s mind lately.

“Uh?”

God, Keith hates not being able to form sentences but he’s thankful that he’s not naturally talkative, so it’s not outright obvious that his heart’s about ready to burst out of his chest if he so much as takes a peek at Shiro.

“You know,” Allura tilts her head, “you’re more like Ken the Eagle and Jonathan Joestar instead of Ryou.”

“No way!” Lance sputters out of the blue, nearly startling them all. “He doesn't look anything like Jonathan. Also, Ken had a rockstar shag, not a mullet!”

“Why,” Hunk sighs, hanging his head. “Why oh why do you know the difference?”

“So much for Shiro’s efforts,” Pidge mumbles, mirroring his actions.

“Hush, Kento and Riley,” Lance snaps.

The chat evolves (or devolves, as it were) into a flurry of conversations, mostly centering around which anime character they all take after. It’s chaotic, to say the least, like it normally gets, just with the added bonus of seeing each other.

Keith doesn’t know which conversation to hop into, if any at all, so he finds himself mostly just sitting there, listening to Lance and Pidge wax poetic about Adult Swim and explaining their Americanisms to Allura, who quickly catches on and offers her outsiders’ point of view.

Shiro doesn’t say much either and when he does, he isn’t an animated talker. He’s very grounded—unlike Lance who flails all over the place or like Pidge, who leans and slouches depending on her level of interest. He listens carefully, doesn’t speak over anyone and asks questions to show that he’s genuinely interested or impressed. Keith imagines he’d be a good person to learn the art of conversation from.

If he wasn’t so distractedly good-looking.

There’s a small scar over the bridge of Shiro’s nose—not a glaring thing, but still very much there. Keith wonders where it came from. And more than that, he wonders what it’ll feel like to brush his finger along it.

“Probably soft, I bet.”

The chat falls silent and it’s because he’d said that. Out loud.

Oh shit. “Uh, I…gotta go to the bathroom. B-R-B.”

Keith doesn’t realize he literally just spelled out an acronym until he’s in his bathroom and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and trying to drown out the chat laughter and noise in the background.

Great. Just great. They’re probably laughing at him.

He runs the tap and splashes some cold water onto his face and, after catching his breath and tying his hair into a low ponytail, he returns to the room.

It doesn’t help ease his self-consciousness in the least bit, because the first thing he notices is Shiro tilting his head inquisitively upon his return. It’s almost enough to make him duck under the bed or something. Keith doesn’t say anything, however; simply waits for Pidge to set up a Livestream.

Tonight’s movie is _Star Trek Beyond_. It’s a decent movie, one that even Keith sat through on Netflix not too long ago, although he doesn’t share Hunk’s excitement for it. He can barely focus enough as it is.

Somehow, Keith manages to not make a fool out of himself by the time the end credits roll. Thankfully.

Allura stretches when all is said and done, her voice a little ragged with exhaustion in spite of her smile. “I rather enjoyed that. We should do this more often.”

Keith agrees and doesn’t at the same time. He doesn’t think he can make it through another one of these sessions the same way again. Something’s gotta give. Eventually, he’ll have to say something to Shiro, or to any of them, or else Lance’d pick up on it and annoy him to death about it. Who knows, maybe that’s just what he needs.

The chat squares go black until it’s just Shiro and Keith in the room.

“Hey, what’s that you’re looking at?”

Although Shiro’s voice was so soft he might as well have whispered that, Keith almost leaps out of his own skin. “Huh?”

“You keep staring at something off-camera.”

Oh. He didn’t…realize that. “Nothing,” he says, quickly.

Lies, really. He was just making the effort to not look directly at Shiro.

Shiro looks pensive for a moment, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Keith has to look away. “Oh, I was wondering if maybe… nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Shiro smiles, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. See you tomorrow? Don’t know if Allura can make it but we can try the Fire Cavern, maybe?”

“Ah. Sure.”

  
  


– -

 

  
  
Later on, Keith’s laying in bed, unable to sleep. It’s a repeat of the past week’s nights, except now he has a face to a voice and a voice to a name, and that’s all his mind can focus on. Even browsing through his phone can’t keep him from thinking about the width of Shiro’s smile or how unusually long and dark his eyelashes are.

Before he knows it, he’s using his phone’s browser and Googling Takashi Shirogane. Nothing except a bunch of Facebook and LinkedIn crap. An image search pulls up nothing of interest.

A text message alert pops up on the top of his screen.

`**Shiro  
** You there?`

Keith chokes.

`**Keith  
** yeah what’s up`

`**Shiro  
** Lol nothing nevermind. Sorry to have bothered you...`

Keith won’t just nevermind it. Who asks someone something like that at two in the morning because of nothing? No one, that’s who.

`**Keith  
** I thought you had a thing to go to?`

`**Shiro  
** I did`

`**Keith  
** Oh`

He really wasn’t expecting that answer. He really needs some work on his conversation skills.

` **Keith  
** Did you need something?`

Fuck. Now he’s sounding inconvenienced and accusatory.

`**Keith  
** I mean you never text me this late.`

Not that he particularly minds. He’s about to add just that bit when Shiro’s reply comes through.

`**Shiro  
** Yeah sorry. I couldn’t sleep.`

` **Keith  
** Everything okay?`

`**Shiro  
** My pain meds put my sleeping schedule out of whack. I’m wide awake now and bored out of my mind. Sorry if I’m keeping you up btw.`

`**Keith  
** You’re not. I’m not sleepy.`

Only a little bit, but for Shiro, he’d tough it out.

`**Shiro  
** I think this’ll be easier if we were online.`

`**Keith  
** Gimme a minute and I’ll turn on the game.`

`**Shiro  
** Actually I think Skype would be better.`

Shit.

`**Keith  
** OK.`

His fingers shaking like mad, Keith signs onto Skype. Sure enough, Shiro’s on and calls him before Keith can change his mind.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Keith wants to pinch himself just to make sure he’s not dreaming.

He looks better than even before.  Shiro’s not wearing the beanie this time around, revealing a touch of light gray or white at his bangs that Keith can’t help but stare at. Granted, he can say that about any part of Shiro, really, but without the hat in the way, it grabs his attention more than even Shiro’s sculpted arms.

Shiro seems to follow his line of vision, somehow, and says, “Piebaldism,” without preamble, his cheeks a little pinker than usual on Keith’s monitor. “Just something I’ve had to deal with for a while. It’s why I wore the hat earlier...”

Keith didn’t think it was that bad—certainly not something for anyone to be self-conscious about. If anything, it makes Shiro even cuter.

“Your hair’s still in a ponytail.”

Oh. With everything that had been going on with the earlier chat and Shiro, Keith had simply forgotten about it. He reaches up to yank the elastic out but Shiro stops him when he lurches forward in his chair as if to reach for him through the screen or something. “No—no. There’s… no need. It doesn’t look bad.”

“Oh.” Face burning, Keith lowers his hands, slowly. “Okay.”

“So.”

Keith scratches at the back of his neck. “So, um...”

Shiro chuckles. “So…what’s up? Thanksgiving’s coming up. You got any plans?”

“Not really.” Keith shakes his head. “We—um, my aunt and uncle don’t really celebrate it. It’s just another Thursday for us.” He pauses, then realizes conversation pieces typically involve engaging the other person, so he tacks on: “What about you?”

“No plans this year. At least not yet. My brother was going to come down here, or I was going to visit him, but he’s…busy with school and—” Shiro stops, his face faulting with worry. “Why are you looking at me like that, Keith? You okay?”

Keith manages to swallow just enough to keep his throat from going completely dry and closing in on itself. “You have a brother?”

“You sound surprised,” Shiro chuckles. “Yes, I do. Lots of people have brothers, Keith.”

Meanwhile, Keith isn’t laughing. Clearly, Shiro doesn’t understand the severity of this. Somewhere out there exists someone with the same DNA as Shiro. “Older or younger?” he asks in a single breath.

If Shiro’s a twin, Keith’s going to die. He’s sure of it.

“Younger,” Shiro says with a confused blink. “Funny enough, his name is Ryou.”

Keith exhales, nice and slow. He can deal with younger. For now.

Shiro snickers and Keith wants to frown and catch an attitude about it, because how dare he, but he can’t. Not when his mouth twitches up into a tiny grin on its own accord. “What?”

“Nothing,” Shiro says, shaking his head, “just…you were so cute just now.”

Keith’s pretty sure if he’s not careful and doesn’t stop blushing so fiercely, his brain will simply melt or cease to function altogether. “Cute?”

“You know, you don’t look like any of those people Lance and the others mentioned,” Shiro admits. “I mean, Ryou of Wildfire’s close, but...I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So who do I look like, then?” Keith challenges, his mouth spread out into a full-blown smirk.

“I don’t know.” Shiro shrugs. “That’s the thing—you don’t look like anyone.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I mean that in a good way, I promise.”

“I bet.”

“What about me?”

Keith blinks. “Huh?”

With a smirk that Keith can only describe as downright teasing, Shiro gestures to himself. “Am I everything you hoped for?”

Wait. God.

Is Shiro _flirting_ with him?

The world feels like it’s spinning in the opposite direction. Keith grips onto the bottom of his chair, just in case it topples over. “You…uh,” he coughs, “you…don’t look like a serial killer?”

“Always nice to know,” Shiro laughs and it’s even worse now than before because Keith can see it, all of it. The crinkling of his eyes, the way his eyebrows lift, the slight definition of a dimple in his cheek.

Keith reaches for a nearby bottle of water on his desk, hoping it’ll cool him off and get rid of the burn in his face and his throat. The water’s not even close to cold but he chugs it down anyway. At the very least, the slight pause kills the current topic of discussion.

Then Shiro’s voice goes a little soft and he asks him, “Say, um, are you a friend of Dorothy’s?”

Keith’s brow furrows. “No, I don’t know a Dorothy,” he mutters. Only Dorothy he knows is the one from _The Wizard of Oz_.

“Nevermind.”

Shiro looks and sounds embarrassed, and hurriedly suggests they stream a movie. _Ex-Machina_. Keith’s never heard of it but the actor that plays Poe from Star Wars is in it so there's that, at least. Still, he would much rather keep chatting with Shiro. About anything. His younger brother, his piebaldism, the current political climate in Chechnya. Anything, as long as Shiro stays.

Before the title screen pops up, Shiro comments, “by the way, I’m not keeping you up or anything, am I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith says, shaking his head. “It’s Sunday. It’s my day off. I’m good.”

“But it’s late. Isn’t your family—?”

“I live alone in my own place.”

“Oh.”

Keith ends up missing most of the movie but he doesn’t miss Shiro’s blush.

  
  
  


–-

  
  
  


Keith wakes up, realizes he’d drifted off, and Shiro’s gone. If Shiro stayed up with him or—worse—watched him and slept with him, it’s perhaps best that he doesn’t know.

Shiro had left him a message on Skype.  
  


**Shiro** : Sorry. By the time I woke up, you were deep asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.

  
It’s stupid and nerdy, but Keith just warms at the idea that they slept together.  
  


**Shiro** : I had fun. We should do this again sometime, if you want. See you around! :)

 

Keith is screwed. He is so fucking screwed.

  
  
  
  


\- -

  
  
  


After that, Keith’s able to sleep easily throughout the week—perhaps too easily. He breezes through his classes, yet doesn’t remember a single thing from any of his lectures and can’t tell for certain if his latest exam is a pass or fail. In spite of all this, he feels strangely relaxed. Lighter than air, even.

Until the moment he spots a flyer on one of the student bulletin boards on campus.

A complete accident, of course, as it’s typically something he ignores, but once he sees the bright rainbow flag and the obnoxiously large and flowery print above it, he has no choice but to look.

 

__ FRIENDS OF DOROTHY.  
_ Seasonal play and town hall.  
_ __ Presented and hosted by the LGBTQ+ Student Alliance Theater Group.

  
Keith’s first instinct is to just dismiss it. Then, while stuck in traffic on the way home a short while later, he thinks about it again, remembering how Shiro had asked him if he was a friend of Dorothy. 

Maybe Shiro was checking to see if Keith was a part of that theater group? Plausible, although Keith would argue why would Shiro even assume or care—Keith never let on that he gave a shit about theater before. He barely knows enough about movies.

It has to be something else. It’s far too much of a coincidence, otherwise. So, once he arrives home, to Google he goes.

 

_      What is a friend of Dorothy? _

  
He squints at the first result.

_  
     A gay man. _

  
Why did Shiro want to know if he was gay? And why did he ask it in such a roundabout way? Unless he’d been unsure or curious or—

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, Akira/Keith looks almost identical to [Ryou of Wildfire](https://68.media.tumblr.com/0e04971e664a86cf0ae28afc33fd10df/tumblr_no8d063qzW1sp2g3po4_500.jpg). Just saying.


	5. Observations of the Human Condition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things!
> 
> First: as you can see, I've added and changed some of the tags. Also, the rating has gone up to M because of a scene in this chapter. I tried not to make it as explicit as I typically do in my smut fics. As it stands, I don't think there will be any other sexual scenes in the future (of course, that can easily change), but I bumped the rating just in case. *If you're uncomfortable with sexual scenes of any nature, you can skip the scene. It starts with **Keith lied** and ends with **soiled hand**.*
> 
> Secondly: THERE'S FANART by the uber-talented [Maka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makaria/pseuds/MTrash). Not only am I blessed to have such a wonderful friend and beta who patiently listens to me whine and toil over this fic and fandom in general, she's a fantastic artist who gifted me with a LOVELY piece based on the "big reveal" from Chapter 4! [Please check it out here](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/post/160523069156/the-quality-of-shiros-cam-isnt-the-best-and-the). Here's her [Tumblr](http://makariaartsabout.tumblr.com/), where she has other artworks & writings you should definitely check out. Thank you, Maka!
> 
> And thank you to everyone that's shown this fic support. ❤

Shiro is gay.

At least, Keith thinks he is.

Hopes he is.

And if Keith’s hope-fueled suspicions are correct, Shiro’s also interested in his sexuality. Or maybe he’s not; maybe Shiro was able to figure out Keith’s pretty much in love with him and was looking to gently let him down.

It’s been two weeks since it came up. Keith has always assumed that with the passage of time, his conflicting thoughts would eventually work themselves out. They don’t.

Ever since he’d dropped that bomb of a question, Shiro’s been cleverly avoidant, with sudden exhaustion at the end of their raids and brief, almost perfunctory replies to stuff in the chat. The rational part of Keith’s brain insists it’s because the holidays are approaching and everyone’s working hard—Keith himself had been working extra shifts at the store, after all—but his more vulnerable, emotional side is convinced Shiro’s going to one day move onto greener pastures where guys can read between the lines and actually pick up on social cues.

It’s on the evening before Thanksgiving that Keith, heart-heavy and with too much time on his hands, gives up and deletes a four-paragraph message and hangs his head. The message was actually a letter—a confession, if he wants to be precise. Not that it matters anyway. Shiro isn’t online and he’s convinced none of it made any sense.

Still, Keith knows he can’t keep bottling up everything. So, desperate as ever, he sits up straight in his chair and decides to seek advice from the one person he thinks he can trust the most apart from Shiro.

 **Keith** : Hey Hunk. Are you there?

To Keith, Hunk was the obvious choice for many reasons, mainly that he was the least likely—besides Shiro—to open his mouth about anything to anyone from their group.

 **Hunk** : Heywassup

Keith wrinkles his nose, unsure of where to start. He almost regrets all those years he spent avoiding people at school. Oh well. He can wing it.

 **Keith** : Got a minute? I need some advice  
**Hunk** : sur e man whats up

 _I’m think I’m in love with Shiro_ sounds like the worst conversation starter and as much as Keith trusts Hunk, he doesn’t trust _himself_ enough to even type it out. So he improvises.

 **Keith** : It’s relationship things…  
**Hunk** :OOH DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH????

Keith freezes then makes a face at his computer screen. It wasn’t that obvious, was it?

 **Keith** : What? No!

Actually, that is _so_ the case, but Hunk shouldn’t have to bother with such details.

 **Keith** : Say you’re pretty sure someone likes you or they’re interested in you. What do you say? Or do? I’m asking for a friend.  
**Hunk** : And that friend is YOU. LOLOL you liiiike somebodyyyy I can tell

Annoyance lurches beneath Keith’s skin, prickling him from the inside. Quite unusual for chats with Hunk but still familiar all the same.

 **Keith** :I do not! I’m just curious!

_Curious to know if he, in fact, likes me back because if he does, then holy god…_

**Keith** : You gonna help me or not?  
**Hunk** : OK OK OK fine. All you gotta do is just ask. Your a robotic straightforward kinda guy so it wont come off as weird

Keith squints at his screen. While it doesn’t sound like bad advice, per se, there’s just something _off_ and decidedly _un_ -Hunk about it.

Then it hits him. The obnoxiousness. The _your_ instead of _you’re_. Being called robotic...

 **Keith** : What the hell! Is this Lance?  
**Hunk** : LMAOOOOOOoo  
**Keith** : You fucking asshole! Stop logging into Hunk’s account!  
**Hunk** : Lololol *morpheus face* What would you say if i told you he gave me permission!!!!!  
**Keith** : I’d say you were lying right out of your ass.  
**Hunk** : Hunk says watch your mouth  
**Keith** : What?  
**Hunk** : he’s right here with me, see

A few moments later, Keith gets a Skype call from Hunk’s account… only to realize that once the video boxes load and he’s picked his jaw up off the floor that it is, in fact, Lance’s stupid face on his screen.

And Hunk is sitting right next to him.

They both wave at him, wide grins on their faces, but only Lance’s looks to be of the shit-eating variety.

Keith’s brain refuses to process this. “Hunk, are you okay? Did Lance kidnap you? Do you need me to call the cops? How’d this happen!?”

“Wow,” Lance sneers and folds his arms, “okay, number one. We’re at _my_ house—Hunk’s down here for the holiday, thank you very much. And two, he came of his own free will. That’s something we humans have; you might wanna note that for the next time you need to update your operating system.”

“Be nice,” Hunk chides, nudging Lance. And it’s only then that Keith notices just how close they are. They’re in Lance’s bedroom, sitting on his bed presumably for the extra space, but with as wide as it looks in the camera’s shot, Lance is practically sitting on Hunk’s lap and Hunk doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He looks comfortable with it, actually.

“I’m not a robot,” Keith mumbles, but it falls on deaf ears.

Not that it matters, as he’s still trying to make sense of this. Two members of their ragtag team of game-playing dorks are in the same room at the same time and, from the looks of it, it’s not the first instance. Even in this world of Tinder and EHarmony and Craigslist, closing the distances between each other never seemed like a possibility to Keith.

Because this is different, his mind argues. This is _gaming_. This shouldn’t happen.

Lance’s voice sounds shrill when it cuts right through his train of thought. “So what’s this about someone liking you?” He puts up finger-quotations. “My bad, I meant liking _your friend_.”

“Nothing,” Keith grunts.

Hunk tilts his head. “But you said—”

“Forget it, nevermind,” Keith snaps. “Let’s play some Mortal Kombat.”

Although he busies himself by pretending to look for his controller and game case, Keith doesn’t miss the dubious look Hunk and Lance exchange.

They play for a short while. Long enough for Keith to regret picking this particular game once Lance racks up an embarrassing amount of wins with his Sub-Zero. It’s not Keith’s best showing but for once, he doesn’t argue or come up with an excuse.

Even if it’s Hunk’s fault. Sort of.

People-watching was never something Keith particularly enjoyed, let alone did. Yet, here he is, observing Hunk and Lance like they’re two lions out in the wild and drawing his own conclusions about them.

Hunk is more than happy to let Lance hog the controller; he sits back, playing spectator while offering Lance some of his snacks. He may have let Lance sip from one of his juice boxes but Keith can’t say with certainty if it really happened or not. They’re so familiar with each other, it’s mind-boggling.

Which it shouldn’t be. It’s not as if they’re acting any different from when they’re online.

Online, Lance understands Hunk better than anyone on their team and all but designates himself as the Yellow Paladin’s protector whenever they play, despite the massive difference in their defense stats; he knows how to calm Hunk down during the tense in-game moments and always catches on to his references during chat. Hunk, in turn, calls him Flaco like it’s second nature and Keith can’t remember if Lance ever objected to the nickname. Most telling of all is that Hunk not only laughs at Lance’s awful jokes, he encourages him with an occasional, “Good one, Lance.”

They are so dating, Keith thinks. They probably don’t even realize it.

 

\--

 

Eventually, Lance takes pity on Keith and opts for a break. Which means they’re going to have to talk, which is bad. Very bad, now with Hunk gone off to who knows where.

“Let’s play Injustice,” Keith offers, trying not to sound frantic.

“No can do,” says Lance, “I gave my cousin my copy since I’m waiting for part two.”

“Then let’s go a few more rounds.”

Lance whistles. “Man, I almost feel bad for you,” he remarks. “You sure you wanna keep playing? You some kind of masochist?”

“Shut up,” Keith snarls on instinct, flipping him the bird. “I was distracted.”

“Distracted twenty times, huh.” Lance rolls his eyes. “By what?”

Keith pretends to not hear him. “Don’t you have to go eat?” It’s almost five Pacific—they’ve been playing steadily since three.

“Not yet. Hunk’s downstairs helping Ma season the food for tomorrow. Then in a few, we’re gonna head out for dinner and a movie then come back to play some dominoes with my uncles before we pass out in a pile somewhere.”

“Sounds fun,” Keith mutters. Too fun. He’s almost jealous.

Lance grins cheekily. “I know, right?”

Thinking back to his earlier observations, Keith ventures, “Hey, are you and Hunk…?”

Lance arches a brow _high_ on his forehead. “Are Hunk and I…?”

_shirogane has signed on_

Shit.

Keith flicks his gaze from the corner of his television screen back to his computer, just in time to catch Lance giving him the most suspicious look ever. Keith’s mouth goes dry. “...are you guys gonna watch Survivor Series tomorrow?”

He’s not sure if he made a smooth save there or not. All he knows is that he’s breathing out hard with relief once Lance shrugs and says, “yeah. Hunk insisted.”

Keith watches, unsure and quiet, as Lance zooms in so close to his webcam, he thinks he can make out each individual strand along his hairline. He grimaces, leaning backwards. “What?”

Lance squints. “You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” he growls—or tries to. It’s hard to sound intimidating when he’s mere moments away from freaking out. “Why?”

“Because you look like you just shit your pants.”

Keith frowns. “Ew, no.”

“I didn’t mean literally, you weirdo, I meant like you—” Lance leans back. “Oh, hey. Shiro’s on! Let me get that hotness on here!”

Just what Keith wanted and didn’t want the most.

After Lance types a bit and invites Shiro into the call, Skype shifts to allow room for one more screen. And once again, Keith’s at a loss for words and nearly for breath. Takashi Shirogane is going to be the death of him.

“Hey guys,” Shiro greets, casually. He’s adjusting his headset onto his beanie. It ends up a little crooked but, _oh_ , if it isn’t the most endearing thing. “Playing Mortal Kombat XL?”

“Yeah.” Then Lance pipes up, excited. “Do you have it? I’m tired of beating Keith like he owes me money.”

Shiro, still fiddling around with the fit of his headset, pauses and looks a little confused by that metaphor. He somehow looks even cuter. “Sorry, no.”

While Lance grumbles and complains about it, Shiro stands and flips his chair around so he can straddle it, just like last time. And just like last time, Keith’s inner thighs twitch, forcing him to fidget around in his own chair. Albeit for a slightly different reason.

It was a quick and quiet adjustment but Keith couldn’t help noticing the white elastic band labeled “Calvin Klein” around Shiro’s narrow hips peeking out on the lower third of Shiro’s screen when he moved. Keith also notices, quite alarmingly, that either Shiro’s pants are saggy and clinging for dear life to his hips or Shiro’s on this Skype call in nothing but a t-shirt and some boxers.

Judging from how plump and dewy Shiro’s skin looks, he probably just got out of the shower, too…

The revelation is more than Keith can take. Something hot and urgent stirs in the pit of his belly. He’s going to have to do something.

“I gotta go,” he says, abrupt.

And signs off without another word.

   
  


\--

  
 

Keith lied.

He didn’t have to go, not really. But if he stuck around Shiro—especially Shiro in a thin white close-fitting shirt who also may or may not have been in his underwear—any longer, he would’ve exploded into a cloud of black and red confetti. He’s sure of it.

For a good long while, he stares at his bed and nightstand, and the box of tissues on it, and thinks, hopelessly confused and guilt-stricken, if he should.

It’s not as if anyone would ever know. And he’s already nursing a huge crush on someone he plays video games with. He can’t possibly sink any lower.

Well, he _can_ , but…

Desire wins out over reason and pride, and before he can talk himself out of it, Keith turns off his computer and crawls into bed.

He’s almost fully hard by then.

The central air’s on at almost full blast yet his entire body feels like it’s on fire. Even just the tickle of bedsheets on his skin is smothering. Shirt rucked up to a spot just above his navel, he thinks maybe he should relocate somewhere with less chance of making to a mess, like the shower, but then his phone chimes, signaling a new text message.

It’s Shiro.

Keith ignores the phone for now, not wanting to risk accidentally dialing through to him while he does this. Although the idea of getting off while Shiro listens in on him—completely unaware while sitting there in his underwear and making that ridiculously cute and confused face—turns Keith on more than it has any right to.

It’s even hotter when he closes his eyes and lets his imagination run wild with that narrative: Shiro’s thick brows furrowing then raising high with recognition, his mouth curving slow into a grin, his face flushing a deep shade of red as he listens to Keith writhe around on his bed...

Reaching down, Keith palms himself through his sweats, thankful he’s not wearing something as constricting as a pair of jeans. He wonders, briefly, how Shiro’s hand would feel if he grabbed him just like this. Would he be tender and careful? Or upfront and a little rough?

There’s another text chiming in and Keith jumps. With surprise or anticipation, he can’t say for sure. All he knows is that he’s gotta get off soon or else he’ll be laying here in bed for the rest of the day, conjuring up fantasies of Shiro texting him about all the different ways he wants to fuck him.

Which isn’t inherently a bad thing. But he’s so wound up, it’s almost painful.

Keith undoes the drawstring of his pants then tugs them and his briefs down just far enough before he wraps his hand around his dick and squeezes. A little harder than necessary, maybe, but as his fingers move up and down his shaft and circle around the head, and as his hips begin to buck into his fist, he finds he doesn’t care. It’s incredible.

Keith throws his head back against the pillow, his lower lip caught tight between his teeth, his groans stifled. Pointless, really. He lives alone—he can be as loud as he wants to. So he parts his lips, and groans out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shiro…”

He’s only seen him three times but it’s enough for Keith to focus on. Shiro behind, on top and inside of him. Shiro comforting him, telling him he’s close in that deep and calm voice, planting light kisses to his back and thrusting in at that same spot again and again and again until—

Until Keith’s world goes white and he’s spilling over his knuckles, onto his stomach and onto the bed as he lets himself go. It’s more complex than that, he knows; he also thinks he may have arched his back off the bed while whining Shiro’s name again, but as his shoulders release pressure and he sinks back into his mattress with boneless relief, Keith can’t even remember the sound of his own voice.

The first thing Keith does once his vision (mostly) returns is reach for his phone. He’s not sure what’s more alarming: how fast he moved to retrieve it once his brain didn’t feel like mush or how delighted he is to see the alerts for Shiro’s texts.

At least he didn’t pick the phone up with his soiled hand.

`**Shiro  
** Everything okay?`

`**Shiro  
** Nvm. Looks like you're busy`

In a manner of speaking, he _was_. Keith forces his body to sit up and scoot towards the edge of the bed as he types up the first response he can think of.

`**Keith  
** Sorry, I had to go shower.`

`**Shiro  
** Oh. You've got plans tonight?`

Shit. He _doesn’t_ but now that he’s essentially lied his way into a corner, he’ll have to think of something.

`**Keith  
** Yeah gonna go to my aunt's house for dinner`

He didn’t plan on it but there’s no telling what else he’d do tonight if left to chat alone with Shiro. He already wrote a dumb confession that he thankfully had enough sense to delete, almost spilled the beans to Lance and Hunk, and jacked off to him, all within the span of a couple of hours. Just texting him like this is risky enough.

`**Shiro  
** Oh. Alright.`

Keith swallows, not liking the way his heart sinks at reading just those two words. Or how clearly he pictures Shiro pouting, crestfallen.

`**Keith  
** Why? Everything okay with you?`

`**Shiro  
** Yeah. Was just wondering if you were up for some gaming tonight.`

`**Keith  
** Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow?? I know it's a holiday but Hunk and Lance might be avail too`

`**Shiro  
** I was wondering about that. Why’s Lance on Hunk’s account?`

A change in subject. Keith can work with that.

`**Keith  
** Hunk’s spending Thanksgiving weekend with Lance.`

`**Shiro  
** Really? Wow!`

Keith grins a little. It’s good to know he’s not the only one that’s surprised by the whole thing.

`**Keith  
** Right??`

`**Shiro  
** I bet they’re having a blast. Do their families know each other??`

`**Keith  
** IDK. I don’t think so but then Hunk seemed familiar with everything, so...`

_Very_ familiar, Keith thinks. But he doesn’t want to dwell on that.

`**Keith  
** Speaking of family. Did your brother come to visit?`

`**Shiro  
** Nah. He couldn’t get tickets so he’s spending it with some friends. He might come up for Christmas though.`

`**Keith  
** Wait, so you’re alone?`

The holiday didn’t mean that much to Keith personally but no one, least of all Shiro, should have to spend it alone. 

`**Shiro  
** Yeah but it’s NBD :) I’m going to do a couple of hours with PAF.`

`**Keith  
** What’s PAF?`

`**Shiro  
** Project Angel Food. It’s a charity.`

`**Keith  
** Oh.`

Then the conversation falls flat and Keith’s left cringing at his own awkwardness. He hates it when it happens. Why can’t talking come easily to him?

`**Shiro  
** Well I better let you go then, enjoy your dinner`

Keith has to delete the very desperate WAIT four times before he settles himself with something less pathetic.

`**Keith  
** It’s fine. I just gotta head over there and then wait for her to finish setting up so we can keep talking while I’m over there`

`**Shiro  
** Ok. :)`

It’s a stupid smiley, but it’s enough to make Keith’s heart flutter.

 

 

\--

 

 

Keith manages to shower and drive over to his aunt’s house without incident, his mood surprisingly upbeat—or as upbeat as things tend to go for him, anyway.

Even though his aunt gives him hell for showing up at the last minute and his little cousins tackle him to the floor once he’s toed off his shoes at the entrance—which doesn’t do wonders to a body still recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm—Keith would venture to say he needs this. This time apart, to recharge and regain his bearings.

Nevertheless, after conceding defeat and shooing the two rugrats away, he ducks into a room and whips out his phone.

`**Keith  
** Got a few before dinner’s ready`

`**Shiro  
** WB. What are you having?`

Keith blinks, never imagining Shiro would even care about what he’s eating yet his face warms all the same.

`**Keith  
** IDK. Some kind of beef, I think`

`**Shiro  
** Maaan, you’re having a home-cooked meal and all you can say is “some kind of beef”?`

`**Keith  
** I didn’t look yet! It smells good though`

`**Shiro  
** What’s it smell like?`

`**Keith  
** Spicy? Yeah spicy`

`**Shiro  
** That’s vague!`

A hum of a laugh escapes him, although Keith’s not sure why he’s even laughing in the first place. Maybe because this is all so surreal to him. He can’t remember ever having a conversation about dinner like this with anyone ever.

`**Keith  
** IDK spicy is spicy to me`

`**Shiro  
** You’re going to have to put it in better words for me, Keith.`

His aunt takes that precise moment to poke her head in through the door. “Keith, come help me set the table. It’s almost time for dinner and—who are you talking to?”

Her eyes light up and Keith’s stomach swells with ice-cold panic. He knows just what that _look_ means. He barely has enough time to move the phone out of her line of vision before she’s shooting off rapid-fire questions she’s prepared since his voice started changing.

“What’s her name? Where does she live? Where does her family work? Tell her to come here, I’ll make some yaksik! You still love that, don’t you?”

“No—! I mean, yes, but it’s not like _that_ ,” Keith all but whines. Definitely not like that. His aunt probably thinks he’s talking to a nice, wholesome family-ready girl just eager to meet them. If only she knew.

His phone vibrates in his hand.

`**Shiro  
** What else are you having?`

Speak of the devil.

`**Keith  
** Mkladmn;`

`**Shiro  
** Huh?`

His aunt winks and it’s about as subtle as a freight train barreling through the front door. “Oh, so you’re _just friends_ now. I get it, I get it.”

 _No, no you do not,_ Keith wants to scream, but he doesn’t, and just lets her indulge in whatever fantasies she has. They’re bound to come crashing down anyway.

“Bring your friend over someday.”

Keith makes a pathetic sound of protest because he knows better than to say _no_ outright to her. “Okay, okay,” he makes a vague shoo gesture with his hand. She takes mercy on him and backs down.

`**Keith  
** Sorry, my aunt’s bugging me here.`

`**Shiro  
** Hi, Keith’s aunt! You have a wonderful nephew! :D`

Again with the heart-warming smiley. They’re going to have to do something about that.

In the real world, miles away from the Cloud 9 that is being referred to as _wonderful_ by Takashi Shirogane, Keith’s aunt giggles and squeals. “Aww, look at you, you’re blushing!”

So much for mercy. Keith’s not sure if he is or isn’t blushing. He just wants to sink through the floorboards.

`**Keith  
** Dude. No.`

`**Shiro  
** LOL. I’m JK.`

In spite of the embarrassment his aunt’s putting him through, Keith’s mouth spreads into a smug grin as his fingers move on their own accord.

`**Keith  
** So then I’m not wonderful?`

`**Shiro  
** I was joking about saying hello to your aunt, actually.`

God, how can he catch him off-guard so easily? If his aunt wasn’t in earshot, Keith might’ve ended up giggling and squealing like her, too.

Biting down hard on his lip, he scrambles around for a decent response, only it’s not as decent as it ought to be. In fact, he’s not aware of how dumb it is until _after_ his thumb hits send.

`**Keith  
** I bet you say that to all the guys`

Keith realizes, lamentably, that he can’t flirt to save his life.

`**Shiro  
** Only the cute ones`

But Shiro can.

“Keith, let’s go. We can’t keep your uncle and cousins waiting.”

`**Keith  
** I g2g dinner`

`**Shiro  
** OK! I’ll be around for a bit. Get back to me when you can!`

It sucks having to end the conversation there, especially when he can’t redeem himself, but Keith nevertheless follows his aunt back out with a big dumb grin on his face.

   
  


\--

   
  


There’s a strict No Phones at the Table rule at his aunt’s house. It makes dinners there kind of uncomfortable, hence why Keith prefers dinner at his own place, but free food is free food and more than worth it when it’s delicious.

Except tonight, his butt’s barely touched his seat when his aunt, like the scheming mastermind that she is, gets to work on embarrassing him right away.

“Guess what? Keith has a little friend.”

Everyone glances up at him. Keith nearly drops a bowl of hot soup right on his lap. “Wha—? That’s not—”

Next to him, his cousins giggle behind their hands. His uncle, on the other hand, seems more interested in the braised beef platter in the center of the table. His aunt has the nerve to look like she’s spinning and dancing in a field of flowers and sunshine, when she really ought to be standing over a bubbling cauldron. “It’s true. You should have seen him. He was texting and smiling and blushing,” she sings, “like someone in lo~ove.”

Feeling his cheeks burn, Keith shakes his head. “It’s not—we’re just _talking_.”

“No one just _talks_ to someone with that kind of look on their face, Keith,” his aunt insists.

He’s been subconsciously preparing for this moment ever since he was thirteen, when his aunt told him she’d find him someone and made it her mission in life to introduce him to every single one of her friend’s daughters and nieces. He’s avoided all of the pitfalls of the set-up game; even made sure to avoid bringing up the subject of dating throughout high school. So how is this even happening?

An image of Shiro pops up somewhere in the back of his mind. He thinks he doesn’t know why.

“At least invite your friend over for Christmas or News Year’s?”

It’s a stupid idea. Yet, Keith finds himself thinking that if those dorks Lance and Hunk can do it, why can’t he. Except for the obvious reasons why not, of course. One, he wasn’t planning on coming out to his uncle and aunt, ever; and two, if he did, it would be years from now, when he’s gray and they don’t care, making this all moot.

“I can’t,” he mutters instead, “they live in California.”

To his surprise, it’s his uncle that speaks up next. “What part of California?”

Keith looks at him, brows furrowing. “Los Angeles, I think.”

His uncle just nods and scoops some rice into his bowl. “Interesting.”

No, not interesting. Strange. He never cares about this sort of stuff. Keith shoots him a furtive look. “Why?”

   
  


\--

  
 

This is, by far, the craziest thing Keith’s ever done.

And he’s done some crazy things in his life. Talked back to his aunt, went skateboarding down the steepest hill in the city without protective gear of any sort, ate an entire durian, attempted a three heart-run in _Zelda: Majora’s Mask_ …

With his free hand, Keith fixes the bag strap on his shoulder, undecided if he wants Shiro to answer his phone or not. His thumb, shaky and damp with sweat, hovers over the red cancel button, just in case.

Shiro answers on the fourth ring. “Hello? Keith?”

Just as Keith expected, Shiro sounds more than a little bit surprised to hear him. And with good reason: they text each other regularly but they never call.

“Hey.”

“Is something wrong?” Shiro asks.

There’s some bustling in Shiro’s background that Keith can barely hear over his own pulse. “No. Um. Where are you? It sounds...loud.”

“I’m doing the Project Angel thing, remember?”

Oh, right. Because Shiro couldn’t be perfect enough already—he has to spend Thanksgiving weekend feeding the poor. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

“...you sound off, Keith. Not to mention, you called out of the blue. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith hastily responds, “I’m just—um, where are you?”

“I already said—”

“No, I mean, _where_ are you?”

“In Los Angeles,” Shiro says, monotone. “Where are _you_? Are you feeling all right? Did you take something?”

At this point, Keith’s wishing he _had_ taken something. Maybe this would be going a lot smoother and less like something straight out of an awful movie.

He breathes in deep. It does little to help his nerves but at least he’s able to speak now.

“I’m in LA, Shiro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh! Spaghetti-o's!
> 
> Chapter title is from a friend's Pop/Punk/SKA Band album. I thought it was cute.
> 
> Also, Project Angel Food is a real charity based out of LA. I've worked with them in the past and it was among the most rewarding work I've ever done. [Please check them out](http://www.angelfood.org) and if you can, donate or volunteer!


	6. Undeclared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there. Long time no see! It's been, what, about a year? I've encountered a bad writing block and a blow to my confidence as a writer which crippled my ability to even go back to this fic, or any fic. But thanks to support and a nice dose of IDGAF Juice, I was able to throw this together at the last minute. Thank you so much to everyone that has left me messages on Tumblr and Twitter. I really appreciate it. ❤
> 
>  **FANART**! That's right, there's fanart inspired by this fic, not necessarily depicting a scene from it, by the lovely Liv. [Here](https://twitter.com/vanillaliv/status/929829817444319232) it is. Cute, isn't it? Visit their twitter [here](https://twitter.com/vanillaliv)!
> 
> Just like in the last chapter, there is non-explicit sexual scene in this chapter. It is not essential to the plot, so if you're uncomfortable with scenes of that nature, you can skip it. It starts with **It's hot but not humid** and ends with **"how much you want it."**

Silence. It’s the second worst possible response aside from a hangup.

Then, after a breathless moment, Shiro speaks. “You’re _kidding_.”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and hopes his voice doesn’t match the desperation in his gut. “I’m not.”

“Wow. This is… When? I mean, what brings you to town? I didn’t know you were coming…”

Ironically, Keith didn’t either. “It was a last minute thing for family,” he says, “my uncle had to get some legal paperwork and things notarized here with my other uncle, so he sent me.”

It’s the truth, if only far less complicated than reality. Keith’s uncle _did_ have some family and business matters to attend to here in Los Angeles. And sure, said matters could have been resolved electronically or through the use of a paid mediator but perhaps his uncle figured why do that when he could adjust his ticket and create an alibi for his enamored nephew?

And here Keith thought his uncle never cared about such things.

“I’m finished with everything too,” he adds, hope weighing on every word despite his trying not to lay it on thick. It’s torture, not knowing what Shiro’s thinking of all this. He almost wishes he had Face-Timed Shiro instead, just so he can read his expression.

But then that would mean Shiro could see his splotchy, red cheeks and the nervous sweat making hair stick to his forehead.

“Yeah, so, uh.” Shiro sounds like he’s moving around although with all the background hustle and bustle, it’s hard to pinpoint anything. “I’ve got a bit before I’m done here.”

That Keith’s managed to keep it together this long is a miracle in of itself; he’s almost to his breaking point, now. He’s _so_ close, he can’t imagine he’d last for much longer.

“But you know,” Shiro adds, “we’re pretty much done here. I can take off early.”

Something lurches in Keith’s chest and he hops, once, in place. A pedestrian walking by looks at him funny. “Really?” Sounding like Lance is probably the worst way to look like he’s in complete control of himself here. He clears his throat. “You sure it won’t be a problem?”

“It’s Black Friday. If you’re out and about, you’ll probably get caught in a shopping stampede. Or, worse, surrounded by a swarm of tourists. Really, it’s okay.”

Keith can barely contain his glee. “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up and getting Shiro’s address in a text, Keith hails an Uber. When the driver pulls up, Keith hands over a five-dollar bill. “There’s an extra ten in it for you if you get me there fast.”

 

\--

 

Shiro’s place is not that far of a drive from Koreatown. Thirty minutes according to Google Maps, and that’s with steady traffic. Nevertheless, the Uber gets him there in thirteen minutes.

And when Keith spots a familiar broad-shouldered figure from a good distance away standing casually by the complex parking garage, thumbing through something on his phone, oblivious to his surroundings and his own majesty, Keith’s pounding heart doesn’t just skip. It takes a running start and _leaps_.  

Keith throws the driver a balled-up twenty and all but launches himself out of the car.

“Shiro…!”

It’s not quite the romantic and heartfelt face-to-face meeting Keith’s had in mind since these feelings first manifested but he can’t complain. Shiro’s here no more than five feet in front of him, tangible and smiling, and Keith wants nothing more than to touch him, to  bury his worries beneath him.

“Hey,” he manages.

“Good to see you.” Shiro’s smile widens, reaching his eyes. Again, he’s wearing a cute beanie. This one doesn’t quite fully hide everything—Keith can still see a small patch of light-colored hair peeking out the front.

“Yeah. Same.”

A hug might not seem appropriate, so Keith refrains, keeps his hands secured tight around the straps of his backpack. No need, he realizes, because once he’s close enough, Shiro makes the first move and gathers him into an embrace. It’s woefully quick and light, just like it ought to be between casual friends.

In spite of all that, Keith’s knees buckle.

“Sorry if I’m gross.” Shiro gestures to himself. “I’ve been packing and serving food since dawn.”

Gross? Shiro? Never.

“N-No. You’re,” perfect, “fine.”

Shiro chuckles and something warms in Keith’s chest at having to see face-to-face. “You’re too kind. I still need to clean up, though.” He turns toward the building. “Shall we?”

Unable to resist, Keith gulps and follows.

 

\--

 

Shiro’s condo is on the second floor of a sleek, modern building that looks like something straight out of those HGTV shows Keith’s aunt’s obsessed with; the ones with the wide window panels and impeccable landscaping and secured access. The HOA fees must be insane.

Everything looks expensive. Even the stairwell is sparkling clean, well-maintained and carpeted. And as he follows Shiro up the stairs, Keith, with his wrinkled, faded red shirt and black no-name skinny jeans can’t help feeling way out of his league. Being here makes the past few months’ interactions seem surreal. Why does a guy who lives in such a place even bother playing dorky games online with guys like Keith?

The door opens and the very first thing Keith notices is the sound of nails scrabbling on hardwood floor.

“Hey buddy, look who’s here!”

Like his owner, Sven is even more beautiful in person. Luxurious, soft-looking coat of white, black, and a little bit of gray, which makes the bright red ESA Dog collar around his neck stick out. Keith’s curious about it but forgets to ask about it once Sven sits on his haunches right in front of him, looking up expectant and patient, his fluffy tail wagging from side to side.

Keith freezes and looks to Shiro for help. “Um—?”

“You can pet him, you know,” Shiro encourages. “He won’t bite.”

Carefully, Keith runs his fingers over Sven’s head, behind his ears. He's softer and fluffier than he looks. Sven, in turn, happily nuzzles into his touch. This is unusual. Dogs tend to either growl at him or ignore him altogether.

“This...uh,” Keith clears his throat, “he’s not that bad.”

“‘Not that bad’? Sven’s perfect company, you’ll see.”

They step further into the condo. It’s exceptionally clean and lacks the gaudy decor a certain fussy aunt would insist on but it still has its own simple charm. It’s the perfect sort of place for someone who never cares much for how his own place looks, let alone someone else’s.

Shiro fetches him a bottle of juice from the fridge. Pomegranate, tangy with a slight bitter taste. The first sip is cold and heavenly. “Alright,” Shiro says, “give me about ten minutes to freshen up. In the meantime, make yourself comfy.”

That seems outright impossible. Weeks ago, they were online, grinding for EXP and rare items in Voltron, now he expects him to stand in the middle of his kitchen while he showers like everything's hunky dory?

The level of trust Shiro has in him is ridiculous. Keith nods, unable to hide the way his eyes follow the hypnotic ripple of Shiro’s body as it moves toward the bathroom. God, that ass.

With nothing to do but wait and grow restless the more he focuses on the sound of the shower, Keith gives himself a mini-tour of the living room space. Everything is simple and well-kept with the usual fixtures—entertainment center with television, a small bookshelf, the computer desk nestled in the corner…

There are a few framed pictures lining a row shelf on the entertainment center. Most are of Shiro in various stages of life. Shiro in his Marine Corps uniform; one of him much younger, in a _Pan’s Labyrinth_ shirt and baseball cap, holding an eighth-grade math award, his smile wide and showing off a proud row of glinty braces; a grainy, sepia-tone photo of him in elementary school playing with a vintage Voltron action figure. Other photos feature Shiro alongside someone who Keith can only presume is Ryou.

There’s no mistaking it: they’re brothers. Ryou is handsome. Almost annoyingly so. He favors Shiro in the looks and height department, only younger and not as broad—slender, he’d say—with dimples and legs _for days_ . In an alternate reality, Keith could easily see himself fancying a guy like Ryou. But Shiro is _here_ , and he’s on another level altogether.

Keith’s in the middle of finishing his juice and texting his daily update to his worrisome aunt when the door to the bathroom opens. He glances up and both regrets and loves that decision.

Shiro’s stepped out of the shower, shrugging on a shirt, droplets of water still dripping from his hair. Processing the brief glimpse of Shiro’s naked torso while sipping juice proves too complex a task and Keith soon finds himself coughing up his drink.

Shiro, at least, has the decency to pull the shirt down the rest of the way before he nears him. “Whoa there. You okay?”

Keith nods vigorously. The fact that he’s biting back the tears and still coughing into the back of his hand might not seem convincing but he thinks he plays it off well, all things considered.

Shiro doesn’t look like he agrees. “You sure?”

Keith nods again, stands up straighter. “Yeah,” he hacks, “it just went down the wrong hatch.”

“And down your shirt.”

“Huh?” Keith blinks and looks down at the wet, purplish red patches of juice on his jacket and the shirt beneath it. He groans, more disappointed in his own clumsiness than in the actual stains. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry about it, we can just throw them in the wash and—oh, hang on,” Shiro says before he opens up the panel doors to a laundry alcove and reaches into the dryer bin for a black hooded Adidas sweatshirt. “Here,” he hands it over to Keith, casually, and motions for his grubby shirt and jacket in exchange, “you can wear this in the meantime.”

Keith balks. He’s _got_ to be kidding. “Are you sure?”

“It’ll wash and dry fast,” Shiro promises, even though that’s not what Keith’s freaking out about.

The chance to wear something belonging to Shiro, his biggest crush since Trunks from _Dragonball Z_. How can Keith possibly say no?

Keith ducks into the bathroom and hopes he’s not oozing excitement. Once the door’s shut, the first thing he does is sniff the hoodie and, _god_ , it smells divine. Like fresh laundry and something light and musky that he can only presume is Shiro’s own natural scent. The hoodie is still toasty from the dryer and when he pulls it over his head and glances at himself in the mirror, it’s not as bulky a fit as he thought it would be.

Shiro’s going to have to pry this off his cold, dead hands.

A soft knock on the door makes him jump.

“You okay?” Shiro asks from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice thick, “just a minute…”

He splashes some cold water on his face thinking maybe that’ll stave off the heat building in his cheeks. He catches his reflection again and an idea sparks off like metal against a flint. Sliding the elastic off his wrist, he ties his hair back into a small ponytail.

Perfect.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mutters when he steps out of the bathroom.

Shiro’s all ready to go with one of Sven’s leashes in hand. “For a minute there, I thought you’d fallen…”

Keith blinks, watching closely as Shiro’s face morphs from puckish to a little taken aback. His head even tilts. Just like last time. That makes it twice now. There’s just no way it’s a coincidence.

Shiro shakes his head, gestures to the leash. “Not sure what’s the plan yet, but I gotta take Sven on his walk. The beach isn’t far from here. Wanna come with?”

A walk on the beach with Shiro and wearing his hoodie. Keith can’t believe his luck. He grins. “Of course.”

  


\--

 

This isn’t Keith’s first time in Los Angeles, or even his second, yet he’s still taken aback at how nice the weather is for late November. Outside, a nice breeze has picked up, although it’s still warm and comfortable, carrying with it the faint scent of seawater as they cross the three blocks or so to the beach.

It’s thankfully not that crowded and once the leash is off, Sven zaps ahead like a bolt of lightning. Shiro and Keith follow behind him, their shoes off, the sand and seafoam tingling between their toes.

“You sure he’s okay here?” Keith asks, as Sven chases the water, only to run away when it rolls back onto the shore.

Shiro looks amused by all of this. “Yeah, this beach is private and dog-friendly, provided there’s no mess left behind.”

“Private?” Keith tips a brow. Even with his parents’ inheritance and everything he’s got in the bank, Keith doubts he could ever afford living in a swanky place just steps from a _private_ beach. Then he realizes how presumptuous he may have sounded there. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No worries,” Shiro says with a shrug. “It _is_ kind of pricey around here. I’m surprised I lucked out with my place.”

“What do you mean?” Keith tilts his head. Didn’t Shiro just walk into the realtor’s office and charm the agent into getting what he wanted?

Not that Keith would ever blame them. Just watching Shiro crouch to rub at Sven’s ears for the umpteenth time is enough to make him want to melt and give him everything he owns.

“The condo’s a sublet from an old client as thanks for helping him and his wife get back on track. I just pay the HOA and all the utilities, it lets me save up what I earn so I can put it towards what I want.”

“What’s that?” Keith feels his face burn when Shiro turns to look at him. “What is that you want?”

Shiro puts on a self-effacing smile. It’s not as dimply as Ryou’s picture but it still jolts Keith’s heart. “I dunno,” Shiro admits, “I guess I just want to live comfortably and help my brother pay off his loans. I mean, I kind of do that already, and I love being a trainer, but it’s cutthroat work around here. And what I really wanna do is…”

Keith lifts his brows, silent and waiting.

“...I don’t know if I should even say this.” Embarrassed, Shiro looks away, pretending to be distracted with Sven chasing his own tail, and Keith swears he’s red around the cheeks. “You’ll laugh.”

“Maybe,” Keith says without pause.

Shiro looks back at him, sharply. “Well that’s very reassuring.”

Playfully, Keith nudges him with his elbow. “C’mon, spill.”

“A fireman,” Shiro mutters, his gaze falling onto the sand at his feet.

“ _You_? A fireman?”

“Sounds dumb and childish, right?”

 _No_ , Keith thinks. _It’s perfect, actually_. Hot, even. It’s every gay fantasy he’s ever had and the subject of over half the porn he’s ever watched.

“You’re not laughing,” remarks Shiro as he looks back up.

Keith stuffs his hands into the pockets of his now-favorite hoodie and it’s now his turn to look away. “Why should I? It’s not funny. Sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“‘Heroic’, huh?” Shiro considers that. The silence that follows is both long and deafening. “What about you? What are your plans? Your aspirations?”

Keith shrugs. If it were up to him now, he’d glue himself to Shiro’s side. Beyond that, nothing.

“Really? No plans? No goals or childhood dreams?”

Aside from that period of about two months when he was eight or nine when he wanted to be a Z-Warrior, Keith never considered his future in such a way. After his parents’ death, he didn’t see the point in preparing for something that could be dashed in an instant at the hands of a drunk driver.

Keith hunches his shoulders in another shrug, saying nothing.

Shiro’s relentless, however. “You’re in school now though, right? What’re you majoring in?”

“I’m undeclared,” Keith says, gazing down at his toes, suddenly ashamed at not having everything figured out while Shiro, perfect as ever, seems to have his life planned out even after his Marine Corps setback. He almost mumbles _inadequate too,_ but seeing Shiro out the corner of his eye stops him.

After a short, quiet moment Shiro hums. “Oh. Well. It takes some people years before they find the right one.”

Keith knows Shiro’s referring to careers but he can’t help but think differently. “I guess so.”

Something cold and wet plinks off his nose. Then another a few seconds later. Not seaspray. Rain.

Just perfect.

“Ugh,” Shiro groans, his hand held out, droplets falling onto his fingertips. “We should head back before we’re caught in a downpour.”

While fantastic in theory, seeing Shiro in a wet white shirt will probably kill him, so Keith agrees and together with Sven back on his leash, they turn to make the trip back to the condo.

Along the way, Shiro starts listing off nearby restaurants. “Let’s see, we can try somewhere else, like Huntington Beach but traffic is pretty bad around this time. Maybe we can go for something light and local? Or order something?”

They’re passing a local grocery store with a hipstery,  earth-friendly setting and a sandwich board out in front advertising something with kale. It’s the sort of store Keith tends to avoid on principle, but spotting an ad for poultry on sale gives him an idea so strong, his mouth starts to move before his brain can catch up. “I can make us something, if that’s okay.”

Shiro looks at him with disbelief. “ _You_? Cook?”

Keith sniffs. “Um, yeah? I mean, I’m not a foodie like Hunk or anything, but I can make us something so you won’t have to waste gas or get stuck out in traffic or anything.”

  
Keith’s proud at how fast he’s managed to come up with such an alibi and how he kept himself together in the process. Even though it feels like his ribcage is going to crack open.

“Okay. Sure. Sounds good. Sven and I will wait out here.”

Once in the store, Keith breathes in deep then sets out towards the meat department, determined, like a man on a mission.

  


\--

 

Back at Shiro’s place, Keith is standing before the kitchen counter, an apron on to protect Shiro’s hoodie, silently thankful that his aunt forced him to learn a thing or two about survival cooking despite his teen angst. Never once did he imagine he’d be making food for someone else, let alone someone he cares about.

Two pounds of chicken. Honey and butter, of course. Soy sauce. Sugar. APF. Potato starch. Baking powder. Two cloves of garlic. He’ll need Shiro to provide salt and pepper, naturally, eggs, and some sugar…

“What’re you making?”

Startled, Keith jumps.  “Honey butter chicken.”

“Honey butter chicken? Sounds interesting. Is it good?”

“‘Is it good’ he says.” Keith rolls his eyes, a light smirk quirking up at the corner of his mouth.

Shiro nudges him. “Well, is it?”

“It’s all the rage.”

The butcher back at the store was kind enough to chop the chicken down to bite-sized pieces. And as he sprinkles the salt, pepper, and potato starch over the pieces, Keith’s mind is already moving onto the next two steps.

“Need some help?” Shiro asks, and Keith has to wonder if this six-foot plus of a man was once the type of kid that stood on his tippy-toes and watched over the shoulder of any working adult nearby. It’s endearing, really.

“Not really...”

It’s not that Keith doesn’t see the obvious appeal in preparing a meal together with Shiro.  But he wants to make this for him on his own, as a means of showing his appreciation and to show off his limited culinary capabilities. After all, a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Or so his aunt once said.

Shiro watches him crack an egg, one-handed, into the bowl. “But I feel kind of useless here.”

Keith takes pity on him and offers, “You can play clean-up crew as I go along?”

“Works for me.”

And so they fall into an easy, wordless routine moving around each other as if they’ve been working together like this over several lifetimes. As Keith coats the chicken, Shiro cleans and wipes what he can and fetches things for him, like measuring cups and oil.

The kitchen area is small but the limited space doesn’t disrupt their seamless rhythm. At one point, Shiro scoots behind Keith—his front to Keith’s back—and they’re so close and Shiro is radiating so much warmth Keith thinks he might actually start overheating.

Strange how a random, domestic thing can mean so much more when two people are involved.

The pan hisses and pops, signaling Keith to add the chicken for the second round. Shiro peers between the pan and Keith, his nose wrinkling as Keith dumps in the already-cooked batch. “You’re double-frying?”

“They’re more crunchy that way,” Keith reasons as he expertly moves the chicken around with tongs to keep them from sticking.

The scar on Shiro’s nose looks more pronounced when he scrunches up his face. He’s almost too cute. “Keith, that’s a heart attack waiting to happen.”

Leave it to the personal trainer to have an issue with fried goodness. Keith shrugs and turns over a few of the chicken pieces. A grin twitches at the corner of his mouth but he fights it off. Somewhat. “Well, if you’re gonna go, go with a smile.”

“Did you just quote The Joker?”

The slight grin spreads out into a full-grown smirk. “...I might’ve.”

And where Keith expects a lecture about villainy or the importance of nutrition or even silence, Shiro blindsides him by taking things into a whole new direction: he  lifts the hem of Keith’s—-no, _his_ —hoodie and the shirt beneath it and presses a cold bottle against the skin of Keith’s bare back.

It’s not quite a screech that Keith lets out but it’s damn close. Even Sven perks up in alarm. Keith’s not sure what’s more daunting. The cold snap or the thrill that shot straight up his spine when Shiro’s fingers curled into the tiny space between his back and the shirt.

Shiro has the nerve to cackle and look smug.

“You’re awful,” grouses Keith once he’s sure he’s not going to have a heart attack.

“ _I’m_ awful? You’re the one who just quoted a supervillain!”

“Only because you said my cooking’s gonna kill you.”

“Well, to be fair, you are making fried chicken. It is a possibility…”

As an apology of sorts, Keith holds up a piece of cooked chicken with a fork. Part of him hopes Shiro would take it, just like that, into his mouth. The other, more realistic side realizes that can’t happen without Keith fainting. “Here, try this.”

Shiro plucks the piece from the fork and pops it into his mouth.

He can’t recall there ever being a time in his life that he stared so hard at someone else’s mouth as they chewed but here he is, looking at the flex and movement of Shiro’s jaw like a hawk.

Shiro stops chewing and his eyes go shock-wide and that’s when Keith knows he’s won him over. He smirks, full-blown and shameless. “Still think you’re gonna die?”

Shiro holds the cold bottle up in warning. “Don’t get sassy.”

While Shiro readies some easy sides, Keith sets the table without being asked—something he never did until his aunt nagged him to near-death about it. Though he doesn’t say anything, the impressed look on Shiro’s handsome face tells Keith that he’s got yet another thing he has to thank his aunt for.

The table’s ready and Shiro steps back, lets out a low wolf whistle of appreciation at the display of food. “Keith this is amazing.”

It’s pretty small compared to what Keith’s used to at his own family dinners but he can’t remember the last time he’d ever felt proud of anything like this. “My aunt taught me,” he says, modestly keeping his eyes lowered as he unties the apron.

“Did she teach you anything else?” Shiro sounds like he’s genuinely curious. Keith wants to believe it’s because he wants him to cook more meals.

“This and that.”

“I’m a terrible chef, so dinner’s usually easy things like boiled chicken and steamed vegetables,” Shiro says as he pulls out Keith’s chair, then his own, without a second thought. “Lame, I know. But if I can get stuff like this on the regular…”

There’s a dreamy, serene look on Shiro’s face as he lowers into his chair, like he’s basking in the comfort of _home_ after a long day of work. Keith easily pictures himself putting plate after plate of food on the table just as Shiro sets his briefcase aside and pecks him on the cheek with a customary _hi honey, I’m home..._ _Dinner looks good honey. A good thing, too, because work was brutal. I’m so glad to be here with you. Tell me about_ your _day, baby…_

“What do you like?”

Keith blinks back into reality. “Eh?”

“If you can get whatever you want, what would you want to eat?”

So caught up in learning about Shiro’s favorite foods, what he likes to eat, and what he wants to put in his mouth, Keith never stopped to think about what he wants.

Other than Shiro himself.

Panicking inwardly, Keith shrugs and tries his hardest to not look like he might be uncomfortable with all of this. He’s just not used to being the type of person someone else is curious about. He likes it. “Something family-oriented? I don’t know…”

Shiro’s happy with that answer. He nods, then, “oh, speaking of which: do you have to go back?”

“Huh? Oh. No, not right away. In fact I—”

Keith stops himself. _In fact, I think my uncle’s place is too crowded_ might sound like he’s fishing for Shiro to pop up with a suggestion. “I’m...still up for anything, if you are.”

“Well, the rain’s still going. Want to watch a movie on Netflix or something when we’re done here?”

God. Netflix and Chill is a possibility. An extremely slim one with less than 5% probability, but it’s more than zero.

Keith almost wants to cry. Instead, he smiles, and picks up one of the chicken pieces, and nods. “Sure.”

 

\--

 

They end up watching _Mad Max: Fury Road_. Keith suspects it’s because of a certain group chat but he also doesn’t want to shatter this insane streak of ridiculously good luck so he keeps his mouth shut.

As it turns out, the movie is really good. Of course, sitting no more than two feet away from Shiro on the couch is a major contributing factor to that but he can admit that the film’s stylistic sets and action sequences are right up his alley.

He’s about to request more just as the alarm on Shiro’s phone goes off—a reminder that Shiro has to get up at five in the morning.

Keith makes a face. “On a Saturday?” He didn’t even get up that early to watch cartoons as a kid.

“It’s a client,” Shiro says while fiddling with some settings on his phone. “He’s a high-power attorney here in LA and he’s having a Christmas wedding, so to prepare, he’s put himself on this new strict regimen. Waking up early, meditation, intense workouts, the works.”

“Oh.” That kind of dedication should be illegal. But once Shiro gets up to switch something out on the Blu-ray player and Keith notices the strong definition in Shiro’s arms as he reaches across one end of the stand to the other, he decides there’s always room for exceptions.

“It’s not so bad,” Shiro says, unprompted, “except the part where I have turn in a little earlier than usual.”

For some reason, Keith feels like there’s something underlying there. “Do you have to go to bed now?”

After a moment, Shiro shakes his head. “It’s not even ten yet. And I’m not tired. Must be all the honey.”

If Shiro’s teasing him, Keith can’t tell.

“Mm.” He thumbs through a few screens on his phone. There are some hotels and motels nearby, but they’re all full. He frowns.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks. How careful and tender he sounds sends something warm down the back of Keith’s neck.

“I’m fine, just...Everything close by is booked.”

Shiro blinks. “Everything okay with your uncle?”

“Everything’s fine,” Keith says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “He has other guests over for the holiday.”

“You know,” Shiro begins, then stops to glance at something off to the side. Keith’s too busy staring unblinking at him to even follow his line of vision. Shiro looks like he’s debating something. Hesitation is a new look on him. It’s as worrisome as it is cute.

“You can stay here,” Shiro finally says.

“What?”

“It’s still pouring out there,” Shiro continues, his gaze angled toward the window but not really focused on anything. He’s opening and snapping a movie case shut repeatedly as if he didn’t hear Keith just now. “Everywhere’s already booked because of the holiday. And if there are any vacancies, they’re probably somewhere sketchy and dangerous…”

From a completely logical standpoint, it’s true. Yet, a subtle panic and desire to not fuck this up triggers Keith’s urge to flee far and fast. He fidgets and fumbles with his phone. “It’s okay, I can always call—”

“And besides,” Shiro smiles, holding up a movie case for Keith to see. _The Original Mad Max Trilogy_. “I wanna show you the other ones. Even Beyond Thunderdome.”

Keith smiles and sets his phone down.

How can he possibly say no to those dimples?

 

\--

  


Try as he might, Keith can’t stay awake for very long.

Not long after _The Road Warrior_ begins, his eyelids weigh down and he may have mumbled a thing or two about _Fist of the North Star_.

It’s around midnight yet Shiro’s still bright and alert—as far as appearances go anyway, since Keith’s too tired to really tell. He’s been riding on such a high and without his beloved Red Bulls to save him, the crash was inevitable. Even though it’s been pretty much the best day of his life, his body can’t continue on.

“Alright,” chuckling, Shiro turns off the TV, “it sounds like it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Rooted in place on the couch, Keith peers up through his bangs at Shiro. There might be a dopey grin on his face when he wiggles his fingers at Shiro in what’s supposed to be a wave. “‘Kay. G’night.”

“You’re not sleeping out here,” Shiro insists. He gestures for him to stand; when Keith doesn’t, Shiro frowns, a hand coming to his hip with authority. “C’mon, you’re my guest. What kind of a host would I be if I left you out here?”

With a groan, Keith hauls himself up then pauses halfway, frozen, distinctly remembering this condo only has one bedroom. “Where—?”

Shiro’s hand clamps down over his wrist and tugs Keith up the rest of the way with a strength that shouldn’t surprise him, yet it leaves him staring fretfully into Shiro’s eyes once he’s up. “You can sleep in the bed,” Shiro murmurs.

There’s something thick in Keith’s throat that makes his voice weak and nervous. They’re standing no more than a foot away from each other and he’s forced to look away. “And what about you?”

“I’ll sleep out here.”

The confidence returns to Keith’s voice. Something bubbles in his stomach; it’s not quite disappointment, but... “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Besides, Sven likes it out here more than the bed, don’t you boy?” Shiro kneels down and rubs at Sven’s fur; Sven’s tail waggles happily in agreement.

There isn’t much Keith can do at this point. Shiro’s mind is made up.

At the doorway to Shiro’s bedroom, Keith stops, his feet like concrete blocks. The room isn’t that big: clean and cozy and minimalist in design like the rest of the condo; the king-sized bed takes up the majority of the space. Keith stares at it, his imagination running wild. Shiro’s probably had all kinds of hot-buttered sex on it and now Keith’s supposed to sleep there?

“It’s memory foam,” Shiro supplies, likely assuming that’s why Keith’s been staring at the bed and not realizing Keith was too busy wondering when was the last time Shiro was naked in it. “It’s a bit weird at first but once you get used to it, it’s very comfy.”

Stepping further into the room, Keith awkwardly tugs his bag further up onto his shoulder, his grip white-knuckled as Shiro continues on with the little tour, pointing out the dresser-drawers and closet.

“Linens are here, if you need more. Air-con controller’s over there. You can charge your phone here on the nightstand and...that’s about it, really.”

“No bedtime story?” Keith blurts. He didn’t mean to but once it’s out and Shiro looks caught off-guard, he’s actually proud of himself for even saying it. Especially since that look is about the most adorable thing on an already-long list of things he’s noticing about Shiro.

Shiro chuckles and shakes his head. “Go to bed, Keith.”

“Mm. Goodnight.”

“G’night, see you in the morning.”

It’s not until long after the door clicks shut that Keith finally drops the bag from his shoulder and bellyflops onto the bed with a sigh. Just as Shiro said: it feels weird but it’s comfortable. The sheets smell clean and fresh. He just might have the best night’s sleep ever.

 

 

\--

 

It’s hot but not humid, the desert wind dry and sharp with sand scratches against the flimsy scrap sheets of tin covering a shack. Sunlight pierces through the crevices in the decayed and discolored metal, baking the inside of it.

Keith comes to on a creaky chair.  It’s a flimsy thing at best, made mostly of rotted wood; if he tilts back and falls hard enough, it might splinter and shatter, but he’s too exhausted and dehydrated to even move. The heat inside the shack is stifling, Keith can barely breathe.

The rusty door grinds loud along the floor as it opens. Shiro walks into the room, his every step careful and quiet. Predatory, Keith’s hazy mind decides.

In his hand—his human hand—is a solid block of ice. If water is a precious commodity in these parts then ice is the rarest delicacy. Keith would drool at the mere sight of it if he wasn’t so dehydrated to begin with.

“Open your mouth.”

Frowning but realizing he isn’t in the best condition to resist what his body needs and craves, Keith parts his dry and cracked lips, mouth open wide for the ice cube. Shiro’s fingers invade his mouth, dropping the cube onto his tongue. The cool wetness is a shock to his system; he has to remind himself to not clamp his teeth down.

“Suck,” Shiro instructs. And so Keith does, mouth enclosing greedily around the ice cube. In seconds flat, it’s melted down to half its original size from the heat of his mouth alone. The salt of Shiro’s sweat-slicked fingers incites his body’s need for electrolytes and once the cube’s fully melted, Keith begins to suck and nibble on those too.

When it becomes obvious that Keith is trying to force his fingers further into his throat, Shiro hisses then withdraws his hand. “Easy, easy.”

Keith pouts as Shiro laughs and picks him up, cradling him in his arms with the greatest of ease. What passes for a bed waits for them in a corner of the dusty room, barely ten feet away. Shiro stares at him the entire time, forcing Keith to stare right back. “What?”

“Mm. Nothing. I just like to watch you.”

While it’s embarrassing having Shiro’s stare fixated on him so openly, Keith enjoys having him so close, even if it means being studied in ways he normally wouldn’t approve from anyone else. The sun has always been forgiving toward Keith—even as it scorched the earth around them, leaving barely anything left. No freckles, no painful blisters or peeling. He often felt odd and out of place in their desert wasteland yet Shiro, with his tan and sunspots and so-called imperfections adored these up-close examinations like he was committing them to memory.

Catching Shiro’s gaze flicker down to his chin then back up, Keith’s mouth spreads into a smirk. “You like to _watch_ me, eh?”

They move to the rickety bed. They lay side by side, hardly any room for them both on it, their limbs tangled in the scratchy sheets. Somehow, Keith’s able to reach down and palm himself without problem. His fingers slide up and remove the buckle that keeps his tattered, dirty trousers from falling.

Shiro groans, his eyes shutting tight. “Keith, we don’t have a lot of time to do this…”

Keith tips a brow in challenge. “But you had enough time to roleplay and hand-feed me ice?”

“Point there.”

And then Shiro reaches down and takes over for him, wrapping Keith in the heat of his human palm while the other grips tight and low his hips, the squeaky metal fingers of the prosthesis digging into his ass, hard enough to bruise. Just the way Keith likes it.

“Fine then, Keith…” Shiro begins to pump him ever so slowly. Keith shivers. “...tell me how much you want it.”

  


\--

 

A dull thump in another room yanks Keith out of dreamy bliss.

For a moment, he has to remind himself he’s not in the desert in a post-apocalyptic world; he’s on a Swedish Tempur-Pedic mattress in someone else’s room. Shiro’s room. And while he’s hard—harder than he’s been in days—he _shouldn’t_ be.

There’s movement in the kitchen. A symphony of sounds—the rattle of glass bottles and jars when the fridge opens and closes, soft footsteps trailing from the kitchen to the living room then to the bathroom, water from the sink then, after Keith strains to hear more than just white noise, the door to the bedroom opens.

Keith just lies there, his eyes closed and his back to the door, breathing deeply and evenly. Best to not interrupt him, Keith thinks, so he continues pretending to be asleep without knowing why in the first place.

Shiro is kind enough to not flick on any lights as he tiptoes around the room. A dresser door opens, some hangers in the closet clatter. He’s gathering up clothes and stuff for work.

Shiro passes by the bed, the same side Keith’s ‘sleeping’ on, and pauses, his presence looming and warm on Keith’s back. Keith gulps and hopes Shiro can’t hear it. He has to seem relaxed and asleep, not frozen with anticipation—not even when he feels Shiro’s body lean over him. His brain’s going a mile and a minute. Almost as fast as his heart.

 _Oh god, oh fuck, god_ \---

Then a softness tickles him on his temple. The tips of Shiro’s fingers glide over his skin and push some of his hair behind his ear. It’s a brief contact but the warmth of his touch lingers long after Shiro’s footsteps fade out of the room, down the hallway and eventually out of the condo.

When the door closes, Keith rolls over, burying his face into the pillow and inhales the smell of Shiro. He whines deep with longing.

They can’t keep going on like this.

 

\--

 

Keith spends the next two or hours hovering in that strange, blurry realm between sleep and wakefulness. He doesn’t dream about anything. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t.

A sharp, loud bark from Sven snaps him out of it. Shiro’s home. Keith gives himself five minutes before braving it.

Shiro’s out there, entertaining Sven and feeding him doggie treats. Keith’s heart skips a beat when Shiro looks up at him with a smile like he’s the best thing he’s seen all day. In a self-indulgent, childish way, Keith wants to think that he is.

“At long last, he awakens,” Shiro announces like a medieval story narrator.

Dork.

Keith shuffles in, attempts a good morning in return along with a sluggish, vague wave.

“Did you sleep well?” Shiro asks.

Keith swallows, sobering and remembering not only his weird Mad Max dream, but also Shiro’s strange bedside manner earlier on. “I did okay,” he mumbles and looks at a spread of food on the counter to avoid even hinting at any of that. “What’s all this?”

Shiro gestures to the platter of breads, sliced cheeses and ham, fresh fruit, and hard-boiled eggs. “I know it’s not homemade,” he starts, “but I figured I should scrape up something from the market since a healthy, balanced breakfast was in order after the fried chicken last night.”

Keith swallows again, and Shiro continues, pointing to the colorful array. “It’s all light stuff, very European, and it’s got your essential proteins and—what’s wrong, Keith?”

Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect.

Keith isn’t used to perfect. He’s used to soggy cereal and Red Bull and loneliness.

When Keith doesn’t reply, Shiro moves to his side. “Hey, is everything alright, man?”

There he goes again, being mindful of Keith’s health and well-being. Keith’s feeling overwhelmed. His chest hurts, heavy with things he feels he should say. Instead, he grabs a slice of sweet-looking bread and some jam. “It’s...nothing, I just forgot to tell you my, uh, flight is this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Shiro blinks. “Alright.”

Lying to Shiro, even by omission, doesn’t sit right with him.

 

\--

 

The rest of the morning ticks by without incident. Ironically, they don’t play Voltron: Legendary Defender, or any other video games, and Keith can’t tell if that was a conscious decision on Shiro’s part.

For lunch, Shiro orders from his favorite pita place introduces Keith to baba ganoush, except Keith barely remembers any of it, including the taste. His stomach had tied itself into a tight knot, the pain of it worsening with each passing minute—until the exact moment he climbed into the passenger seat of Shiro’s Mazda for the journey back to the airport. By then, everything’s gone numb.

Shiro talks about the upcoming DLC for Voltron to pass the time. Keith, with his chin on his palm, stares out at the passing scenery, offering vague replies. Voltron is the furthest thing from his mind.

Strangely enough, there’s next to no traffic so the trip to the airport is quick and easy. Keith can’t decide if it’s a blessing, a curse, or just a freak coincidence.

“Well. Here we are,” says Shiro as he puts the gear shift into Park after pulling into an empty spot in the Departures drop-off zone. “Beautiful LAX.”

Keith keeps his gaze steadied on a rip in his jeans at the knee and his fingers laced tight around the handle of his bag. It’s a little heavier now than before, thanks to the added weight from Shiro’s hoodie. It was an impulsive and, now that he thinks about it, creepy decision to keep it without telling him but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Los Angeles without it. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“And you’re in one piece,” Shiro adds, smiling proudly. “See? I told you I wasn’t a serial killer.”

It’s a weak attempt at using humor to diffuse the situation. It doesn’t work.

Keith lifts his gaze just in time to observe a family dropping off someone from the vehicle in front of theirs. As they haul luggage out of the vehicle, they exchange hugs and well-wishes; a few of them are even misty-eyed. Keith’s never had anything close to that experience.

Beside him, Shiro shifts around. “Keith?”

“I don’t want to go,” Keith whispers.

Shiro’s quiet for tense moment. “It’s alright,” he says, softly, “the flight is short and—”

A man and woman with the family ahead embrace.

Keith shakes his head, eyes screwing themselves shut tight. “No, you don’t get it. I don’t care about the flight. I just want to be with you.”

On sheer impulse and nothing more, Keith unbuckles his seatbelt, reaches across the center console separating them, and kisses Shiro directly on the mouth.

Just as Keith always imagined, Shiro’s lips are warm and soft. Keith’s never initiated a kiss with anyone, but he’s seen it done enough times to have an idea of how everything _should_ go. He knows not to lick right away, knows to close his eyes and part his lips ever so slightly, and tries not to pant into the other man’s mouth even if it feels like the air’s being sucked straight from his lungs...

And Shiro…

Shiro’s breath is held tight, body tense and warmer than it has any right being.

Shiro doesn’t kiss him back.

“Keith, I…”

When Keith braves looking up at him, there’s confusion and pity in his expression, and Keith realizes, with cold and glaring certainty, that he’s made a big mistake.

Without a word, Keith grabs his bag and shoves the door open faster than Shiro can think to act. He’s out of the car and into the chaos of the terminal in seconds flat.

Not once does he look back.

  
  
\--

 

The next several hours are an agonizing blur. Keith doesn’t speak a word to anyone save for a grunt of acknowledgement to the flight attendant offering him his complimentary drink and pretzels. The silence is more of a precaution than anything else—one wrong move, the slightest provocation, and he’d lash out at the wrong person. Thank fuck for noise cancelling headphones.

The sun is dwindling down into the purple horizon when Keith finally makes it home. He’s not tired but his lungs burn. Throwing himself onto his bed and wrapping himself haphazardly with the blanket seems like the best course of action.

For some stupid reason, he checks his phone.

There’s a missed call and voicemail from his aunt.

“Keith, please be sure to give your uncle a visit tomorrow to go over the paperwork. Oh, and how did things go with your friend, mm?”

There is one more. Without looking, he knows who it’s from.

“Keith, it’s me, Shiro. Are you there? You left so suddenly. Listen, I _need_ to talk to you. Can you please—”

_Message deleted._

The text messages come pouring in, afterwards.

` **Shiro**  
I need to talk to you.`

`**Shiro**  
Keith please.`

` **Shiro**  
Don’t shut me out like this.`

_Are you sure you want to delete your entire conversation?_ [YES/NO]

` **Shiro** `

_Block this Contact?_ [YES/NO]

_You will not receive phone calls, messages, or FaceTime from people on the block list. Are you sure?_

 

\--

 

****CAUTION****

_Deleting your VOLTRON: LEGENDARY DEFENDER save data will erase all market purchases, achievements, and records. The information will be available for restoration for 30 days from the time of deletion. Proceed with deletion?_

Keith sighs and clicks ‘yes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melodrama, what can I say? To help wash it down, here's a recipe for [honey butter fried chicken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXajiO-30Ow&t=171s). Maangchi is the best.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/milkcustard) and [Tumblr](milkcustard.tumblr.com).
> 
> And yeah, how 'bout that Season 6, eh? Hnghhhhhh.


End file.
